Spiraled Escalation Out of Control
by angel-dawes
Summary: It started when Puck bought Rachel a slushie and didn't throw it at her. And it's really crazy how things can just escalate from one little decision.
1. Iced Queen

This is my first attempt at a _Glee_ fanfic, so hopefully it's at the very least _decent_.

It's going to get a lot darker in later chapters, just fair warning.

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1. Iced Queen

When he'd left Rachel Berry sitting on the bleachers after she asked him if they could 'still be friends' or some shit, he really meant what he'd said. They hadn't been friends _before_ she had broken up with him for stupid ass reasons, and he didn't want to be friends with her _after_. The implication was pretty clear, he thought. It screamed: _no way, you loser freak_ without actually saying the words out loud, which showed that she was kind of rubbing off on him because she was so fucking annoying that he wanted to be _nothing_ like her.

But after a week and a half of her slowly breaking down his defenses with that chipper smile and those killer skirts, that decision went to shit. He heard her talking to Mr. Schue about her stupid self-esteem issues or whatever, and he actually _felt bad. _So the next day when she sat next to him at Glee because there were no more seats, he smiled at her instead of his usual apathetic nod. And then it all sort of came together when he sort of accidentally bought a grape Slushee instead of cherry (grape slushies were disgusting, but they were her favorite) and when he saw her in the hallway, he didn't throw it in her face.

The guys on the football team (when had he stopped referring to them as his friends?) wanted him to. He knew they did (even though they didn't say the words out loud because, hey, no one tells Noah Puckerman what to do). They were watching him hungrily as he walked down the hall towards her, and he was inwardly debating for all of three seconds before he remembered the way it felt to get his _own _slushy facial, and the way she'd cleaned him off so thoroughly like she was the best girlfriend in the world instead of just his second best. And he remembered how she'd sat on his lap and didn't care if he put his hand on her thigh like _really_ far up there. And sure, she'd dumped him because she liked Finn (and because he liked Quinn, even though he kind of didn't at the same time), and sure she hadn't let him touch her boobs (in his opinion, the thigh was way hotter), but she still forgave him for being such an asshole to her, and she still told him that he was a wonderful performer and…shit. He kind of wanted to be her friend, if he couldn't be anything else.

Friends with benefits would have been better, though, because she was seriously hot when she wasn't talking and he had a feeling she'd be a _freak_ in the sack. He was going to bring that up eventually, but starting out slow seemed like a good idea if he didn't want to get, like, a ten hour lecture about decency or something equally as stupid.

So he handed her the slushy, pulled the straw from behind his ear, and said, "here. I guess we can be friends."

She took it and smiled at him, and it wasn't like last time where she'd looked all shocked and confused. She looked just fucking _happy_, and for once she wasn't talking, and she just kept nodding like that, like they were sharing some private joke that he didn't get.

"Thank you, Noah," she said finally. And he only walked away because she started sucking on that straw, and he _really_ didn't need to watch that. He _already _had the occasional sex dream about her. He didn't need them to be, like, more accurate than they already were.

He was almost to Biology when he heard the gasps, and the splashing, and her squeal of surprise that could only mean she'd just been slushied. He turned and saw the entire hockey team, plus a few baseball kids, walking in the other direction with empty slushy cups in their hands and smirks on their faces the size of their giant assholes. Rachel was standing motionless at her locker, eyes squeezed shut and mouth trembling in a tight little line like she was trying to force herself not to cry. The slushy he had just given her was rolling on the ground, spilling everywhere, and Rachel was absolutely _covered_ in flavored ice. Head-to-toe. Her shirt was practically hanging off of her because it was so drenched, and her legs were streaked different colors of sticky sweetness. Before he could stop himself, he imagined licking them clean.

But then he felt bad, because she ran into the bathroom crying.

And he had no idea what to do.

The bell rang and the other students cleared the hallway, avoiding the giant slushie puddle and laughing about what a bitch Rachel Berry supposedly was. He wanted to tell them that she _wasn't_ a bitch, that she was just really smart and knew what she wanted out of life, and if she didn't like you then you probably didn't deserve to be liked because she was totally forgiving of even really mean kids like he and Quinn.

But he didn't say anything and just sort of stood there and looked around for any of the Glee members. Because even though Kurt had been a little turd to Rachel about the whole solo thing earlier, it seemed like they had made up, and Kurt was pretty cool despite liking other dudes. He would know exactly what to do to help her.

Puck _didn't_. But he stood there anyway because no one from Glee passed by except Finn, and he really didn't want Finn's help. Finn would do something awesome and totally sweet that Puck never would have been able to think of, while Quinn would be sitting somewhere in class being all pregnant with _Puck's damn kid_, and the stupid love connections were messed up enough as it was without adding that whole jealousy angle that Puck would start to feel if he saw Finn and Rachel interact, like, _ever again_.

He waited until he was sure that no one was looking, and then he went into the bathroom. He heard her crying in one of the stalls, so he awkwardly cleared his throat. That surprised squeal came again (and it was still more cute than annoying, no matter _how_ much he tried to hate it) and she hit her elbow on something and gave a little gut-wrenching sob.

"It's, uh, it's Puck," he announced when she didn't say anything. He heard her let out a sigh of relief, and he watched under the stall as she got to her feet.

He spied a sliver of something pink under that retardedly short skirt of hers, but he really couldn't bring himself to care. _That_ was fucked up.

She opened the stall and stared at him with disbelief, like she had expected that he was really just Tina or Mercedes doing a really good impression.

"Why are you in the girl's bathroom?" she asked finally. She was totally shivering and he could totally see through her shirt to her bra, which was also pink (matching. Sweet), but it was not erotic at all and overall pretty disappointing. Because he kind of felt like he was being stabbed in the stomach, which was _not_ the feeling he typically associated with wet t-shirts and a decent set of boobs.

"I saw what happened. I followed you."

It sounded a little creepy, but since Rachel was the _queen_ of creeps, he knew she'd actually think it was sweet or whatever. He wanted to say something to fuck up the moment, because he was kind of uncomfortable playing the hero, but instead he reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. It was just an innocent gesture, like: _hey, sorry you got slushied. If you want, I can sneak you into the locker room and shower you off_.

Seemed like a good plan at the time, but then she started crying again. He _really _didn't want to get his shirt all sticky and wet, but he didn't feel like he had a choice. So he hugged her. He didn't want to, and he tried not to like the way that she felt under his arms, or the way that it reminded him of how he had quit football for her and the Glee club (which made him feel really proud of himself, even though he knew he was a screw-up most of the time). He tried not to like how she clung to him like he was someone who could protect her, even though he was stupid and selfish and just a Lima loser, just like Quinn said.

It was kind of impossible, though, and he realized that she had gotten under his skin.

Before he and Rachel had dated for like two seconds, he'd never understood why Finn liked her so much when he had Quinn and the baby on the way. Quinn was all perfect and beautiful and untouchable and pure, and all these things that you were supposed to want. He had to admit that when he actually _got_ her, in the Biblical sense, it was pretty freaking awesome, even though she was kind of mean about it and cried a lot afterwards before she ran away and told him that he could forget about telling Finn. But then he started dating Rachel, and even though it was only for a few days, it was pretty awesome. She was totally chill to hang out with, even though she talked a mile a minute, because she only ever judged him if he was being mean (and he was okay with that, because _it made sense_, unlike Quinn and Santana who judged him for his hair and for thinking that Justin Timberlake was stupid and stuff like that). When he told Rachel that he hated West Side Story, she had just smiled and replied that obviously he could not appreciate the nuances of the musical because society dictated that he should be a Neanderthal due to his physical appearance and exceptional physique. And that was pretty cool because Rachel Berry didn't call just _anyone_ hot. She had to like, appreciate their personality, too.

Not to mention she believed in him and shit. And she made him sing in front of the Glee club before she would date him, which was kind of hot because he liked bossy girls and he liked how she wanted him to go places. And even when she was talking about Tonys and Broadway, some of the stuff was pretty interesting, and it was easy to tune out the stuff that wasn't and just watch how her lips were really cute when they moved that fast.

So, sure, he felt comfortable enough to admit to himself (and himself only) that despite what he had said to her on the bleachers that day, he was never going to break up with Rachel Berry. Dating her was easy despite her self-described high-maintenance, and he sort of liked listening to her sing even though he liked making out with her better. And she wasn't a hypocrite about sex or anything, not like the other girls in the school. She told him that she wanted to wait a little, but not forever. He thought that was really cool. He liked the honesty because he was sick of lying to everyone and pretending to be supportive of Finn and the kid that he _thought_ had been conceived in a fucking hot tub. And so he was just as badly whipped as Finn, which was _so_ fucked up. Especially since he knew that if it came down to it, both Rachel and Quinn would choose Finn every time.

"Are you okay?" he asked finally when he realized that she wasn't really crying anymore, just shivering and clinging to him like he was that wooden door in the last scene of _Titanic_ (they watched it together, which meant that they made out through the boring shit and then watched the awesome scene when people were falling into the water and hitting propellers on the way down).

"I'm fine. Thank you. I was just surprised, I suppose. Receiving the slushy from you was so lovely and unexpected that I never guessed it could have such a nasty conclusion. And I must admit that although many horrible things have happened to me at this school, I never expected something like _this_. Not so many. Not all at once."

She pulled away from him and sighed, looking down at her ruined clothes and her body that was streaked with slushy juices.

"That was really out of line," he said. "I don't know why they did that."

She shrugged and tried to toss her hair, but it sort of didn't work because it was so heavy with all the ice that had yet to melt.

"It was a message, Noah. Just because your experiences in Glee club have transformed you into a nice young man who is not quite the Neanderthal you once were, it doesn't mean that anything has changed for me. I'm still a freak. And there are still slushy machines in the cafeteria."

That made Puck mad, for reasons that were pretty stupid. He had been the first to spill a slushy into her perfect hair. Why would they think it was okay to keep going with it after he stopped? His giving Rachel that grape slushy should have been the _real_ message: no one messed with his ex-girlfriends.

Unless they wanted to mess with Santana, which was cool with him.

Plus, he was kind of mad because Rachel looked so sad and he really wanted her to smile because her eyes just made him feel like his stomach was being put through a meat grinder or something.

"Want me to beat them up?" he asked in a light tone. He was hoping to get a laugh out of her, and he did. A sweet laugh that made her look really pretty.

Or hot. Or whatever.

"As wonderful and admittedly chivalrous a gesture as that would be, Noah, I would feel immensely guilty if you were hurt because of me. And as you probably saw, there were many perpetrators in this particular incident. In order to find the time to destroy all of them and still keep up with your schoolwork, you would probably need to quit Glee, and then we wouldn't be able to compete in sectionals."

He loved when she made jokes. Not because they were funny (she _was _Rachel Berry, after all, so they usually weren't), but because she always smiled like she was proud of herself for even attempting it. Like it had been a conscious effort to try and be normal for a second. It was totally cute.

So he laughed. Only because he knew it would make her happy. Which in itself was pretty weird because he usually didn't _do _shit like that for people.

"Okay. Fine. I won't beat them up. But at least let me do _something_."

"Actually…I know this is asking a lot…"

"Anything," he said honestly. And, _whoa_, when did he start being the kind of guy who would do _anything_ for a chick he wasn't even sleeping with? Or even one that he _was_ sleeping with, for that matter.

"It's just…oh, nevermind. You don't need to…"

"Berry, seriously, spill. We're standing in the chick's bathroom and it's going to look really weird if someone comes in right now."

Rachel laughed the laugh that Puck really liked, the one that made her face go all soft. She looked down at the ground and put her hands on his forearms. He kind of liked that, even though he didn't know why.

"Well, I remember from our short-lived relationship that you have algebra this period, and I know that you don't usually attend. Unfortunately my dads have not seen it fit to purchase me a car because I am a rather inexperienced driver and, and…well, I normally bring a change of clothes to school but I was feeling unusually optimistic today and I decided to leave them at home. I would…I would really like to go home and shower."

"Dude, you think _that_ is asking a lot? _Please_. That's no problem. I hate algebra. This is an awesome idea."

Plus he got to sit in her house while she was _taking a shower_, which was totally awesome. But Rachel wasn't done.

"First we need to go to Principal Figgins so that neither of us will get into trouble as a result of this."

"No way! He's never going to let us leave. That guy's a tool, and he hates me."

Rachel smirked, and he suddenly thought that she was, like, the sexiest person ever.

"Broadway isn't just singing and dancing, Noah. My repertoire includes more than a hauntingly beautiful voice and a highly competitive dance record."

And he just kind of smiled because he really wasn't sure what he was supposed to say about that, anyway.


	2. Shining Knight in White Armor

Wow, thank you so much, everyone! I never expected this big of a response. My inbox was flooded with 'Story Alert' notifications, which means I should probably check my e-mail more frequently, but whatever.

I'm glad you all liked it, and special thanks to everyone who reviewed. You guys are the best! I'm so happy to hear that I got the Puck voice down. I don't know why, but these two characters are my favorite people to write, ever. The next chapter, we'll get a little bit from Rachel's perspective, which is hopefully fun and simultaneously enlightening.

I want to be clear that this story won't just be Rachel getting into trouble and Puck helping her all the time. This will be more about Rachel coming to terms with the fact that she doesn't _need_ a knight because she can take care of herself. Plus, I think we all remember from the Pilot how manipulative she can be, so she's not going to be a paradigm of virtue or anything. Hopefully that doesn't bring her too far out of character for you guys, but we'll see what happens.

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2. Shining Knight in White Armor

Puck stuck his head out of the bathroom first to make sure that there was no one still in the hallway, and then he beckoned to Rachel and moved aside to let her out. She practically floated out into the open, all silent and hesitant, and her arms were sort of flailing at her sides a little as she tried to keep her balance while still making absolutely no noise. If Puck could have thought of a word to describe it other than 'cute', then he totally would have used it because he didn't _use_ the word cute. _Ever_. But he couldn't.

Which was _totally_ lame.

Once Rachel had 'ascertained' (whatever the hell _that_ was supposed to mean) that there was no one in the hallway waiting to ambush her with another round of slushies, she gestured to him and they started walking quickly through the empty school.

"Hold on, I gotta get something," he said when they reached his locker. And even though she was obviously _freezing_ and turning sort of blue, she didn't complain. Which was weird because Rachel Berry was _always_ complaining about the stupidest shit, and since this wasn't just stupid shit, logic said that she should be complaining even _more_ than usual. And that was when he realized that she was trying really hard not to cry again.

He pulled open his locker with what was probably an excessive amount of force and grabbed his jacket and his keys. He didn't know why he felt the need to move so quickly, but he didn't want anyone to come into the hallway and see Rachel fighting back tears. He didn't want anyone to think that it was okay for them to laugh and point and say shit that didn't even _make sense_. Like that she was ugly (because she wasn't) or had man hands (because she didn't) or was a slut (because, really, that one spoke for itself).

So he slammed the locker closed and draped his McKinley jacket over her shoulders before she could refuse (because she would have). She looked up at him and smiled and put her tiny arms into his big sleeves. And so _maybe_ his stomach clenched a little at the way she looked sort of fragile even though he knew that as a general rule she wasn't. _Maybe_.

He helped her zip up the jacket because she was shaking too badly to do it herself, and he was just _so_ not feeling like a badass that it wasn't even funny. And then instead of taking off at a run and trying to forget that she even existed like he kind of wanted to, he put his arm around her shoulders as they walked off to see Figgins. He figured it was that alpha male protective instinct that she sometimes blabbered on about in Glee club when she thought people were actually listening. But, really, it didn't matter _why_ he felt like his stomach was tied in a bunch of knots, and it didn't matter _why_ he wanted to beat the shit out of every single stupid kid who might even_ look_ at her the wrong way. What mattered was that he could easily tell himself that this was all laying the groundwork for a night of passionate sex with the Jewish virgin singing chick who everyone thought was uptight. He would be even more of a legend than he already was.

Yeah, that was _definitely _what it was.

She looked like she wasn't wearing anything under his jacket, which made Puck laugh but which was also totally going to make a reappearance later on in his dreams or his spank bank or both.

And then she took a deep breath and he tried to walk faster because he knew she would start talking in a few seconds and would never _ever_ stop, but she pulled him to an abrupt halt and looked up at him with this really annoying determined face. He had missed his escape window, and now he was doomed.

"Before we go into principal Figgins' office, I would just like to say that you have been a perfect gentleman to me today, and I am very sorry if I offended you by breaking up with you in the manner in which I did. I thought that honesty would be the best way, and perhaps I was mistaken, but nonetheless I am happy that you have decided to forgive me and that you have helped me out because, and I am entirely aware of the irony that is inherently present in the fact I am about to admit to…" she took another deep breath and finished, "if not for you, I would still be in that bathroom stall, crying my eyes out."

His natural reaction was to want to say something mean and push her away so she wouldn't get the idea that he was, like, the kind of person who did this stuff often, but he didn't. How could he? She was looking all fragile and vulnerable and naked in his jacket, and her face was all sticky from the slushies and…shit, he sorta liked her, didn't he? Glee club had changed him a little, as much as he hated to admit it.

"Anytime, Berry," was what he said eventually once he regained the use of his vocal cords.

She smiled, and it sort of reminded him of when she and the other chicks did that awesome mash-up of those two songs while they were buzzing on decongestants. It was that same frantic, manic smile that scared the hell out of him and turned him on at the same time. Like, he could just imagine how freaky she would be in bed if she was on that stuff when they were doing it.

They stopped outside the door to the principal's office, and they could see that Mr. Schue was inside with Miss Pillsbury, and _thank God_ coach Sylvestre wasn't there because she scared the shit out of him and he was not ashamed to admit it. That lady was in_sane_.

Then Rachel surprised him by shoving him back (and, okay, he was like a brick wall usually, but he wasn't expecting her to go all psycho on him) so they were out of view of the three adults in the office. She looked up at him and exhaled heavily.

"For the purpose of this deception I would like to know if it would be acceptable for me to pretend that we are still romantically entangled. Mr. Schuester knows that I have been on the receiving end of many of your slushy attacks, and I don't think he will trust you to escort his star performer home if he does not think that you are harboring a desire to be my shining knight in white armor."

"I think it's knight in shining armor," he said (and _holy shit_, did he just _correct_ Rachel Berry?).

"Oh. Knight in shining armor. Obviously, I have not had one before."

That made him feel kind of bad even though she said it like it was a joke, because she totally deserved to have a knight in shining armor more than any other girl in the school except maybe Quinn who really needed someone who could take care of the baby. So he sort of leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead like she had done to him when he told her that he was choosing football over Glee (even though he hadn't). And if he made sure that no one was in the hallway to see them before he did it, that was only because he wanted to make sure that he wouldn't leave her open to attack. It was totally _not _because he was afraid his reputation would suffer. He was Noah Puckerman, and he was not afraid of _anything_.

But Rachel tasted like cherry slushy, which was awesome because that was his favorite. And it also reminded him that he still wanted to lick the slushy juice off her legs, even though her legs looked mostly purple and he hated grape.

"Rachel Berry, I will totally be your knight in shining armor and fake boyfriend for five minutes," he said seriously. She grinned that manic grin again, and squeezed his hands in hers, and he _almost_ leaned forward and kissed her but stopped himself _just in time_.

"Thank you, Noah. Again."

He liked how she didn't sound at all surprised like Quinn had when he'd offered to help her pay for his kid's medical bills. He liked that she kind of just accepted that he wasn't as big a dick as he acted. It was cool, because everyone assumed he was a jerk, but Rachel assumed that he wasn't. _Rachel_ who, out of everyone in the entire world, had the most reason to hate him.

She grabbed his hand with that freaky determined expression on her face again.

And then she burst into tears.

For like three seconds he was thinking, _are you serious?_ And he was thinking _fuck, I hope _she's_ not pregnant too but how cool would it be if Finn got _her _knocked up and I knocked up Quinn and it would be like…_, but then she winked at him and he realized that she was acting.

"_You_ are a fantastic actress," he said lamely (trying to ignore the brilliant smile he got in response) before he decided to put on his best scary face. She wasn't the only one who could lie her way out of school. Or out of going to temple or football practice or any of the family gatherings that involved spending time with his uncle Ronnie and aunt Jean. Puck didn't like to brag about things that weren't football or sexual awesomeness, but he was an amazing liar. And in cases like the one he was currently in, lying was pretty much the same thing as acting. He and Rachel were going to totally rock it, _hard_.

He slammed open the outer door to the office and pulled Rachel in after him. Mr. Schue immediately got all freaked and hurried over to intervene because he seemed to think Puck was, like, dragging her in against her will or something.

"Mr. Puckerman," Figgins said with alarm. "Please release Miss Berry at once!"

Rachel cried louder in response, her arms wrapping around Puck's waist. She buried her face in his chest and he tried not to be too obvious about the fact that he was totally turned on by both her aptitude (shit, a Rachel word) for bullshitting authority people and the proximity (_and _another) of her shaking body to his penis. Fortunately, his scary face and scary voice were passably similar to his sexually frustrated face and sexually frustrated voice.

"Release her? Dammit, Figgins, how about you let her go home! She's just been slushied in every color of the damn rainbow and those assholes weren't even recommended by the hall monitors!"

"Reprimanded," Miss Pillsbury offered helpfully.

"Yeah. That."

He was kind of getting into the whole protective knight shtick that he had to sell. Plus he had his arm around Rachel's back and was sort of pushing her into his body, which meant her boobs were all pressed against his stomach, and that was _really _hot. He also liked how Schue and Figgins looked all confused and shocked because it was really just priceless.

"I'm…I'm lost," Mr. Schue admitted. "Rachel, are you okay?"

"Am I okay? _Am I okay_? Look at me! I'm a laughingstock!"

She unzipped and flung open his jacket, and it was really hard not to hide the smirk that came over his face when he saw that the fluorescent lighting in this room was fucking _awesome_ for the whole wet t-shirt thing.

"Look at her!" he said, gesturing in the direction of her boobs and trying to look like he wasn't doing it on purpose. Rachel renewed her tears and pulled the jacket closed with a dramatic flourish. One hand held it there while the other rested on Puck's arm. And then she reverted into this tiny, shaky shell and his anger was suddenly not so fake anymore. Dammit, he hated that he actually _cared_ about Rachel Berry now, like just because she was hot and really easy to date he suddenly had to have feelings and shit.

"Due to their dissatisfaction with the endearingly unexpected romantic partnership that recently occurred between Noah and myself, the _entire _hockey team…"

"And a few baseball guys."

"_And_ a few baseball players all came up to me in the hallway when I was at my locker and they _bombarded_ me with slushies. There were at least fifteen of them. All at once. In _full _view of the entire school, including Mr. Greene who did absolutely _nothing_ to defend me or help me once those horrid boys had finally left me."

Puck was surprised and a little angry at that part, but he didn't let it show.

"Absolutely _nothing_, Figgins!"

"And to make matters worse, not a _single_ person was willing to risk social ostracism in order to help me clean myself off except for Noah, who graciously offered to drive me home so that I may shower and change my clothes before next period begins to save me from further humiliation. We are here to ask your permission so that we are not unfairly penalized for our absences from this period, due to these unfortunate circumstances. You will be glad to know that due to my fondness for the Glee club, I will not be planning on suing the school despite its blatant disregard for student safety; however, I do ask that Noah and I be excused with no further conversation on the matter."

Principal Figgins took a deep breath and reluctantly nodded. The poor bastard probably didn't have half an idea of what Rachel just said. Which Puck totally got. He pretty much caught the gist of the whole thing, but that was mostly because he already knew what had happened. Like what the fuck did 'ostracism' even mean?

"Fine, Miss Berry. Take all the time you need."

Rachel nodded curtly and without a thank you, then grabbed Puck's arm and hauled him out of the room, the very picture of righteous indignation (he pulled that out of his ass, and would be using it later to make her think he was smart, probably).

It was totally hot.

They headed down the hall to the front doors of the school, on the lookout for any unexpected slushy holders. They heard running feet behind them and Puck _almost_ made a complete ass of himself by jumping in front of Rachel to protect her or whatever. But he didn't because Noah Puckerman would not be made an ass for Rachel Berry. It was just a fact.

And then he kind of felt like a jerk, but it was only Mr. Schue, anyway. So if she asked, he could definitely pretend that he had known all along.

"Puck, Rachel…okay, what's the deal, here? What's going on?"

Puck was a little annoyed because Mr. Schue was looking at Rachel like he was trying to say with his eyes: _blink twice if Puck has a gun to your side or is threatening to kill one of your fathers_ or something. But then Rachel did something surprising and straightened herself up, put a hand on Puck's arm, and stamped her flat on the ground in this totally annoying way (which, interestingly, was _not_ the surprising part).

"Mr. Schue, I resent the implication in your tone. The way I see it, there are two possible meanings behind that incredulity. One of them being that Noah and I faked this traumatic ordeal in order to skip class without consequences. To that, I reply that if you simply check Jacob Israeli's blog after third period when he has technical class, then you will see videos from several angles of the whole incident along with an ample commentary about the effects that the slushies have on the visibility of my breasts.

"_What_?" Puck and Mr. Schue asked together, and Puck liked how Schue sounded just as pissed as he felt. But Rachel, of course, wasn't finished. She was _never fucking finished_.

"The second implication I can discern from your tone is that Noah is somehow coercing me into leaving the school grounds under some sort of duress. To _that_, I reply that you should stop being so unfair to him, because Noah Puckerman is a lovely boy and the _only_ person who was willing to help me after I was brutally attacked by _fifteen_ boys in the school hallway. I hate to play the victim card, but it was a horrifying experience and I feel very unsafe, so being escorted home by the school's most perfect specimen of strength and brutality is the only way that I will be able to face the aftermath of this terrible day. Come on, Noah. I want to get home before this seeps into my pores."

Puck looked back at Mr. Schue and really just couldn't resist grinning a little. The poor guy just didn't know how to deal with her.

Not that Puck did either, or anything.


	3. Cracking The Nut

I planned on posting this yesterday/this morning at 2 a.m. before going out for Black Friday, but I never got around to it. And then I fell asleep for like 6 hours, so here is the chapter. Finally.

Thank you again to everyone who reviewed! My mood is so brightened every time I see that I have a new e-mail from one of you lovely people! Hopefully you like this chapter just as much as the others.

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3. Cracking the Nut

They got back to Rachel's house within five minutes, and it was kind of awesome that her dads weren't home because that meant Puck had free reign to explore the place. There were these pictures of her all over the walls and bookcases (why would _anyone_ need so many bookcases?), looking totally obnoxious and annoying but also sort of adorable. He'd seen them for like two seconds when he'd been to the house during their whole dating thing, but it was cool to actually see them up close. He quickly chose a favorite (it just happened. It wasn't like he put thought into it or anything): Rachel smiling wide over a birthday cake, sandwiched between her gay dads. She had three teeth missing in the front and he couldn't stop smiling at how stupid she looked.

He wasn't afraid to admit that he was totally jealous of her dads. She had two, and he didn't even have one. Of course, she didn't have a mom, but he thought that two gays dads were better than his one mom, anyway, since she was always angry at him or crying about his stupid deadbeat dad. His stupid deadbeat dad caused so many problems and he wasn't even _around_ anymore.

When she was about to step into the shower, Rachel called down to tell him that he was welcome to wait for her in her room, or by the front door, or on the stairs, or even outside the bathroom door if he wanted. Puck was no master of recognizing emotions or anything, but he totally got that Rachel was scared and wanted him to be in a place where he had, like, the tactical advantage over any potential intruders. Which made him feel really weird because he started wondering if Rachel had ever been that scared of _him_. Although he was kind of embarrassed to admit it, he used to egg her house and shit. And he knew that her dads were out of town a lot because they were both really successful and important gay dudes. Did she ever think that _he_ would take a prank too far?

And for a second he wondered if he _would_ have ever done something like that. Because if one of the guys had ever suggested intentionally scaring the ever-loving shit out of her by lurking around outside her house or something, back before he was forced to start thinking of Rachel Berry as a person and not just some freak who posted on myspace too much and was basically a person-sized version of that book that tells you bigger words for things, he probably would have said yes without thinking about the scared girl hiding inside and…shit.

He used to be a really terrible person.

He walked up the stairs and sat on her bed and thought about how cool he'd felt when she had let him make out with her. At first he'd had this idea in his head like, _she's probably so happy she gets to make out with me._ Then he'd realized that _he _was the one who should be stoked. Very few people had cracked the nut that was Rachel Berry. Which was mostly because she was annoying, but still. It seriously highlighted his badassness that he was able to withstand that kind of torture to get under her polos and sweater vests and starched skirts.

He knew that he wasn't the first one to plant his flag in Berry's mouth. Finn had kissed her, twice, and Puck knew about both because he had mentioned it to Puck after the first time and then the second time he had _whined_ for-fucking-ever about what a bad person he was for kissing her when Quinn was pregnant. And after that second time, Puck was thinking: _dude, you had to kiss Man Hands to save Glee. That totally sucks for you_. But only a few weeks later and he was thinking: _Finn, why does no one else realize you're a complete _ass_?_

Because Puck knew how much she liked the kid (she had dumped _him_, of all people, for Finn after all), and Finn was _using_ that so that he could save the club and maybe get a scholarship so he could get a good job for the unborn fetus child that was really _Puck's_.

It was _so_ not fair.

Her unrequited and totally stupid feelings for Finn aside, Noah Puckerman (through no skeezy tactics other than his pure awesomeness) had been allowed to make out with Rachel Berry _on her bed_. She was no president of the celibacy club, but she was still kind of prudy, and he had been _on her bed_. He had touched her ass. Groped it, even. Finn hadn't even been to her house!

Yeah, Puck was the man.

* * *

Rachel knew how important it was for a young starlet such as herself to take care of her skin, because if it started to look weathered at too early an age, she was never going to get the parts she wanted on Broadway and instead would be forced to take supporting roles or understudy positions. Which was not acceptable because she truly did not desire to be forced to murder each of the leads until she was given her fair shot in the spotlight, but the things she would do to become successful were limitless.

So due to Noah Puckerman's weekly routine of dousing her with an absurdly large cup of cheap generic brand flavored ice, Rachel had developed the perfect skincare regimen in order to keep from breaking out. Less easy to deal with was the fact that sometimes the ice would leave miniscule and painful scratches on her face, which were unfortunate but easily covered up with the right products. And so far none of them had scarred. Not even a little. Her fathers would have been proud of her attention to detail if she had ever informed them of the situation.

But, no, they didn't need to worry about her. Soon she would be leaving Lima and all of its ungrateful inhabitants behind, and when interviewers asked her about her hometown she would describe it as a disgusting little hovel filled with people who would never go anywhere. Of course, Finn would be on her arm and he would have to agree with her because…well…because Finn wasn't very bright. It would take a _lot_ of pre-Red Carpet instruction to keep him from revealing anything potentially embarrassing (such as how he dumped his _hideously_ rude pregnant girlfriend after he realized that…no, not even in her fantasies would he do anything like that).

She sighed and pushed that thought to the back of her mind, and instead turned to working on her hair. Fortunately, she had discovered early on that the regular slushy rinses actually seemed to add a shine and a volume, but there was still no reason to go around smelling like cherry.

She heard Noah down the hallway getting settled onto her bed, and she could only hear it because she had left the door open a tiny sliver.

Did she want Noah to notice that the door was open? No. Did she want him to look at her in the shower? Absolutely not. Did she remember what Mr. Schuester had told her about a boy who would eventually like all the parts of her that she didn't? Yes. Yes, she did. And she had realized very quickly afterwards that if she was going to sit around waiting for someone who liked what _she _could not stand (she _was _an excellent judge of herself, she thought), she wasn't going to get any of the requisite first experiences that she hoped to have by the time she graduated high school. And if she wasn't going to have any of those experiences, she would not be able to answer many of the pivotal questions that top magazines asked performers. The first kiss, she had handled. The first boyfriend could be romanticized, a bit, and she would certainly tweak the timeline so that Noah's gallant actions in the ladies' bathroom were a result of his deep feelings for her and not merely…not merely whatever it was that had made him help her.

What she was _most_ worried about was a first sexual experience. The more high-end magazines generally didn't ask such questions, but it was important to keep all options open, and she was not above interviews with magazines geared towards young women if it meant expanding her fanbase and teaching young girls that it was all right to be yourself even if you got slushies thrown in your face and had pornographic pictures of you drawn on the bathroom stalls in your high school. She certainly already had an inspirational message to deliver considering her relationship with Noah, the boy who had tormented her, but she needed to be able to tell those magazines about the loss of her virginity (and, in the current social climate, a post-high school virgin was _practically _considered a leper by the general public). She was not entirely sure what kind of experience she wanted it to be. Did she want it to feel like a mistake? Did she want it to be a romantic and loving endeavor? With the changing times, was _romantic_ even really an option if she wanted to make it as relatable as possible? She would have to give her story some serious thought, but first…first came research.

So if Noah Puckerman saw the way the door was open a little, and if he could see her blurred and mysterious outline as she showered off beyond the curtain and through the veil of mist, then so be it. Did she have a very graphic fantasy that involved him _joining_ her in the shower?

Perhaps.

* * *

Rachel had never been one to push the boundaries of social situations because generally she was chastised as soon as she made some sort of faux pas that her peers were more than happy to point out so that they could taunt her for it. But Noah was a certain breed of gentleman that didn't normally involve being very gentle at all, and she was a certain breed of curious.

So when she walked into her bedroom, she was wearing only a small towel around her body.

Yes, she had bigger towels. Ones that would have reached her knees at least.

She was wearing underwear beneath the towel, of course, but she had no intention of informing Noah of that.

And she _certainly_ did not intend to sleep with him (at least not at this particular moment in time), or let him even _touch_ her when she was wearing the towel. She just wanted to see the look on his face.

That was all.

She traipsed down the hallway, Mr. Schuester's words ringing in her ears. When he had mentioned her hypothetical soul mate, he had obviously been referring to Finn because their romantic chemistry was extremely evident in the way in which they sang to one another, but she had a feeling that Noah wasn't so adverse to her company as she had originally believed. He wanted to be _friends_. She was fairly certain based on her extensive viewing of teen television dramas and careful readings of the relationship advice columns in Cosmo magazine that friends of the opposite sex were routinely allowed to parade around one another in scant amounts of clothing, generally when they needed a confidence boost and were unable to attain it from a romantic interest. Sometimes such actions could lead to a mutually beneficial agreement in which the two friends would engage in unromantic intercourse, which was perfect for Rachel's intentions. On television, it rarely worked. But Rachel and Noah were not characters in a television show. They were both mature young adults (he may have lacked a certain finesse, but she was developed enough for the both of them), and they could certainly handle the arrangement. Once, of course, she figured out how to actually approach the topic.

And she had to admit that when she walked into the room and saw him on her bed in the _exact same position_ he had been in when she had so aggressively straddled him and kissed him before she decided that she should not give herself to anyone who wasn't Finn (the fact that he had a girlfriend was irrelevant and hopefully very temporary), she was filled with a flush of excitement.

His eyes got wide, his pouty lips twitched into a smirk, and she was once again floored by how utterly physically appealing he was.

"Thank you for waiting, Noah," she said in what she hoped was a very casual tone. "I admit that my fear is childish as it is highly unlikely that anyone will seek me out at my house, but…well, I _am_ home alone a lot, and it does not help my natural tendency to be overcautious and fearful of nearly everything."

Noah sat up and didn't try to avert his eyes from her legs, which Rachel took as a very good sign of her own judgment of herself because Rachel had always believed that her legs were her best asset other than her voice and her hair and her determination to succeed no matter the obstacles.

Finally, Noah pried his eyes away and got to his feet awkwardly.

"I'll go downstairs, or…"

"No need, Noah. I'll get dressed in my closet."

He sat back down on the bed quickly, eyes returning to what was apparently their new favorite resting place. Rachel quickly grabbed a fresh set of underwear from her drawer, making sure that he saw so that he would believe that she was not wearing any.

And _why_ was she doing this? She was supposed to be good, to be pure, to be someone who wouldn't have any skeletons in her closet once she became famous. She was not a girl who made guys _want_ her intentionally even if she didn't necessarily want them back.

In a more-than-physical way, of course. She abhorred hypocrisy in all its forms, and she was willing to admit for the sake of _avoiding_ said hypocrisy that _physically_ she very much wanted to be attached to Noah Puckerman in every way and position. But her heart belonged to Finn, and that wasn't going to change. Though could she truly deny that sparks that were running through her body when she closed the closet door and dropped her towel on the ground? Could she deny the thrill she felt when she realized that there was nothing between her naked body and his strong arms but that wooden door? And if he turned that doorknob, could she deny that she would let him have her?

She could deny it. She could. But that didn't necessarily make it true.

Not for the first time that day, she wondered what kind of woman she was becoming.


	4. Wet Nightmare

Thank you again to everyone who read the story, especially people who reviewed! Your reviews continue to inspire me to work on this story even though finals are looming on the horizon! It's taking a little longer than I would like to get to the main plot of this story, but I just want to make sure I establish their relationship and my interpretations of their characters as firmly as I can before I start getting into the big stuff. So thank you for your patience and please continue reading!

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4. Wet Nightmare

When Rachel walked through the door to her bedroom wearing _nothing_ except what was possibly a dishtowel, Puck was pretty sure that he almost died of the combination of shock and Rachel's total hotness, because he was a dude who liked chicks, and he had two fully-functioning eyes. Rachel Berry's face looked a little weird sometimes when he got tired of hearing her talk so much, but her body was _banging_ by anybody's standards. She was curvy in all the right places, like her thighs and her butt and even though her boobs weren't that big, they were still totally nice looking and they were the perfect shape. So seeing her in a towel was like, the Holy Grail of spank bank material. He didn't think that even seeing her fully naked would be as awesome, because with the towel there was all this mystery and shit and he was pretty sure that he would be dreaming about her dropping that thing to the floor for three weeks or until he saw an equally as hot or hotter chick in something smaller.

"So, uh," he stammered to her closed closet door as he tried to make himself comfortable on the bed. He didn't want to look too skeevy or anything, but he wanted her to come out of that closet and see how _good_ he looked lounging on her too-bright pink sheets. And maybe he would pout his lips or something and maybe she would go for it because, hey, friends with benefits was looking a hell of a lot more likely. Chicks didn't just _walk around in towels_ if they didn't want guys to start thinking about ripping those towels off and taking advantage of the situation.

But anyway.

"Can I ask you a question?" he said.

"Sure, Noah. Anything."

And that sexy voice _had_ to be on purpose, right? That couldn't have just been natural. She was _totally_ planning on giving it to him.

Awesome.

"Oh, uh…okay, well…it's kind of stupid."

"It's just us here, Noah. If we're going to be friends then I think it's acceptable for us to be able to share our innermost thoughts and feelings with each other."

"Well, when you put it that way, my thing seems a lot less gay. I mean, stupid. Sorry. Cus of your dads and everything, I shouldn't have said that, but…Okay, look, if this question ever leaves the room, then I'm going to dump a slushy over your head three times a day for the rest of your life."

"No you won't. Despite your best efforts to conceal any trace of emotion, I know that your own slushy experience changed you for the better. And, besides, you can't afford three slushies a day. Winter is very quickly approaching, and that means fewer pools to clean. But I assure you that nothing you say will leave my confidence even under threats of death."

"Okay, well, look, I know that I was an asshole to you."

He heard her laugh even though it was really quiet.

"Noah, I think that would qualify as the understatement of the _century_."

"Shut up. I'm trying to…look, I just wanna know…were you ever, like, freaked out because you thought _I'd _do something like break into your house or…whatever?"

There was a long silence before she finally emerged from the closet, dressed back in her creepy choir girl clothes while she continued to towel off her wet hair. When she saw him lounging against her pillows, she smiled and sat down on the foot of the bed. She didn't seem to mind that she was sitting between his legs, so he didn't bother moving them.

"You're asking me if I ever felt this kind of fear because of your actions?"

"Yeah, basically."

Rachel looked at the ground and sighed, looking sort of angry. He wasn't sure if it was because of him, but he felt like it wasn't. Still, he sat up and inched closer to her. He wasn't sure if he was trying to intimidate her into telling the truth, or trying to comfort her into feeling like she could say anything to him. He guessed it probably depended on what Rachel thought of him. What she _really _thought of him.

Whoa, and it was kind of intimate. And that was weird. Noah Puckerman (usually) didn't _do_ intimate. Intimate was lame. Rough and dirty was how he preferred it. Like with Santana or with Quinn or with any number of bitchy girls he'd done it with during the too-short years in which he had been a sexual _god_.

"In the interest of preserving the tradition of honesty and openness that has defined our brief romantic relationship turned friendship, in that order, I suppose I have to admit that _occasionally_ I envisioned various nightmarish scenarios that you would have a factor in."

"Like what?"

Was he leaning closer? No, definitely not.

"Well, being that you were one of my chief tormentors, and being that my late-night television marathons too-often include the show _Criminal Minds_, I occasionally imagined you and the others on the football team devising various ways to scare me. I rarely imagined that it would come to actual _harm, _however. The only example I can think of in which I was legitimately afraid is one which was sparked by a dream I'd had, so that wasn't even a _realistic_ fear. More like a delusion brought on by unnatural circumstances."

"Tell me about it."

"No one likes to hear about other peoples' dreams, Noah. Daddy says that it's like telling a story and then saying 'I guess you had to be there'."

"That's usually true. But since I was _in_ this dream, you should tell me. People think it's cool when you dream about them. Especially if…wait, did we have _sex_?"

"In a way," Rachel admitted. Puck grinned, but the look she sent him made the smile melt from his face.

"Are you saying you had a dream where I _raped_ you?"

"On the football field, to be precise. In the middle of a game. It was not a pleasant dream. Everyone was cheering. Fortunately, it wasn't very graphic. I can hardly remember any of it besides the cheering part. It was just the idea of it that frightened me."

And now it was going to have to get awkward, Puck realized. He didn't like getting deep with people, especially not chicks. Because then they'd get this idea that he wanted to do it _all the damn time_, and he _really_ didn't. But this time it was kind of necessary. He wanted her to know _for a fact_ that he wasn't like that. There were many, _many_ less-than-moral things that he prided himself on being, but a rapist had never been and would never be one of them. His mother had raised him better than that, even though half the time she didn't seem to realize it.

"Look, Berry…you know I'd never…"

"I know," she interrupted, turning to face him at last and shooting him one of those killer smiles that was a little less scary than her kiss-ass smile and a little less sexy than her making-out smile. "I never really believed that you would. But after I dream something, I generally start to think about it happening in waking life. And occasionally I'd get this fear when I saw you in the hallway, not because I thought I was going to get slushied, but because I'd forget that it had been just a dream. The whole thing was merely a result of _Criminal Minds_ and a series of Lifetime movies that my dads forced me to watch in lieu of any sort of sex talk. I stayed up too late, ate too many carbs before bed, and I dreamt about you violating me on the football field in front of the entire school. Needless to say, ice cream is no longer accepted after nine o'clock."

Puck knew that she wanted him to laugh, and he almost did. But he kind of felt like it would be a mean thing to do. How could he laugh at that? The chick dreamed about him _raping_ her. And, really, could he blame her? He'd never given her reason to think that he was anything better before he'd joined her stupid club.

"Why'd you date me, then?" he asked after a silence that was maybe even more awkward than his attempts to make sure she knew he wasn't a rapist.

"Because you asked," was her dejected, whispered answer.

And, shit, he maybe could have cried right there.

Maybe.

* * *

Neither of them wanted to go back to school, but Rachel insisted and ended up dragging him out of the house by the hand. And his fake resistance was totally not just an excuse to hold her hand or anything, but he wasn't exactly unhappy about the fact that her fingers were still wrapped tightly around his when they got outside to where his truck was waiting.

"Noah, you have just been so wonderful," Rachel admitted when they finally released each other and Puck opened the door for her (only because he was already on that side of the car, _not_ because he was trying to be awesome and sweet like Finn). He grinned at her and winked a little, then got into the driver's seat and revved the engine a bit before backing out of the driveway.

"You use words like _wonderful_ and _lovely_ a lot. I think you should start calling me _badass_."

"Fine. You've been perfectly badass today, Noah Puckerman."

"And what you said about me being strong and brutal to Schue was pretty cool. I think you should use words like that to describe me more often."

Rachel laughed, and he grinned at her, taking in the sight of her freshly-washed hair and face. She was clutching a bag of clean clothes in her hands (just in case), and smiling optimistically at the world that passed them by in blurry, colorful tones. It was kind of nice, especially since she wasn't talking.

But then Puck started thinking, because for the first time all day he actually _could_ since she wasn't either talking his ear off or making him feel bad for her or walking around half-naked in front of him.

So when he started thinking, he realized that he was going to have to talk to the guys on the hockey team about this. Probably with punching involved. He knew that he'd told Rachel that he wouldn't, but that didn't mean shit. Besides, her objections (he _really_ needed to stop picking up occasional Berry words) were based on him getting hurt and not being able to do sectionals. Fortunately for her, he was pretty sure he could crush those guys in his sleep. They deserved it, too; first throwing slushies on his best friend, and then on _him, _then the mother of his baby, and then his ex-girlfriend. It was technically a personal attack so he could pretend it was all about him and not about the way Rachel had looked all droopy and sad, earlier, or the way that droopy sadness had made his stomach feel like it was trying to escape from his body, _Alien_ style.

"I might be late to glee today," he told her finally as they were pulling into the school parking lot (and holy shit, who'd have thought he'd be the first to break one of their silences, _ever_). "Could you tell Schue for me? You know, cus he thinks we're dating? We could even publically break up again if you want, but afterwards, cus I really am going to be late."

"I am surprisingly comfortable with the deception that we're dating. If you don't mind, of course. Mr. Schue and I have been on rocky terms ever since I developed that silly schoolgirl crush on him, and I believe that the illusion of a boyfriend would be good for our professional relationship. Only for Mr. Schue though, naturally. I know you have a reputation to protect in front of our peers, and I have a feeling that reputation doesn't involve dating me _twice_. Once was brave enough."

And there she went again, saying something like a total joke that really _wasn't_.

"Whatever. Dating you was _fine_ for my reputation."

"You got a slushy in the face."

"Yeah? So?"

"So your reputation was clearly not as fine as you think it was."

"He's on the _hockey _team. Our hockey team sucks."

"Worse than our football team?"

"Yes. And I don't know if you realize how _embarrassing _that is, but it's pretty damn bad. He's just some punk who thinks he can get away with shit because now we're in glee and they think we're all gay or something."

"What a ridiculous perception! Finn has Quinn and you…well, you have Quinn as well, in a way. Anyone can see the way you look at her. And Mike and Matt are often asked if they're dating Brittany and Santana, respectfully…besides, what does homosexuality have to do with throwing slushies on people? It's simply barbaric and disrespectful." Suddenly, she lit up. "Noah! Do you think that if I threw a slushy in the face of the captain of the hockey team, it would solve things?"

"Absolutely not, but I'm _really_ interested to hear why you would think that."

"Well, after you suffered your slushy humiliation, you were truly repentant for having ever done the same to me, and we shared a _very _touching moment as a result. Perhaps the same thing will happen with him."

"You want to share a touching moment with _Karofsky_?"

"Oh, under _no_ circumstances! I may be desperate for affection, but even _I _have standards."

And even though that was another one of those not-really-a-joke jokes, Puck still laughed. Because this one actually _was_ funny. Rachel gave that proud little smile again, and he realized that they were just sitting awkwardly in his car. He opened the door and got out, and waited for Rachel in the front until she had emerged as well.

She had a lot of books, but he didn't offer to carry them.

There. Badassness reestablished.

"Before you go off on another rant about _whatever_, just…don't throw a slushy at Karofsky, okay?"

"Why not? It worked for you. It was certainly not the _beginning_ of your transformation into a full-fledged glee club member and decent person, but it sped along an otherwise painfully slow process."

"Yeah, but I'm not Karofsky. And Karofsky has Linder to back him up."

"Mark Linder?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't know he was on the hockey team."

"He's _not_. He's Karofsky's best friend. The dude's a tool, but he's jacked. And totally fucked in the head."

Rachel sighed and looked at him for a while. He tried to express his total seriousness with just his face, and he thought he pulled it off because she looked down at the ground and made a sort of adorable little frowning face at the cracks in the pavement.

"It really would cause more problems than it would solve, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah, probably."

"It would have been lovely to get some sort of revenge."

Puck didn't say anything, but he smiled a little.

Rachel _would _be getting her revenge. He was going to see to that.


	5. Reunited, and It Feels Pretty Weird

Here, have a super long chapter!

Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I'm taking this story to a place I didn't think I would take it quite so soon, but have faith! I think I know what I'm doing. Possibly.

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5 - Reunited, and It Feels Pretty Weird

Rachel supposed that as a sort of compensation for his driving her to and from home in the middle of the day, she could refrain from asking Noah _why_ he was going to be late to glee rehearsal. She recalled from their brief romantic relationship that he did not enjoy sharing information about his personal life. She had originally deduced that his silence was as a result of a fear of letting anyone close to him due to abandonment issues sparked by his father walking out, but sometimes she thought maybe she was accrediting him with more emotional depth than he possessed in reality. Perhaps he was merely a private person who did not feel the need to share his every thought like she did. Thus, she didn't ask him anything about it for the rest of the day, even though she saw and waved to him several times and even talked to him in line in the cafeteria (which really was so strangely brave of him, talking to her in such a public forum despite the fact that his reputation had been shaky since he had chosen glee over football for her and for the team).

When she walked into the rehearsal room after school five minutes before everyone else, she sat silently and tried not to wonder where he could possibly be. She admittedly hoped that he wouldn't take _too_ long, because she'd rather enjoyed spending time with him that morning, and she found herself actually looking forward to their next encounter.

Kurt entered the room, sat next to her, and smiled. He was followed closely by Mercedes, who sat on the other side of him. Although Kurt had acted towards her with what Rachel perceived as an unnecessary amount of hostility during their diva-off (after all, it was Mr. Schuester with whom Rachel was angry, not Kurt himself. _Of course_ she agreed that Kurt should be allowed to try out for _Defying Gravity_. With two gay dads, she was very supportive of homosexuality and the breaking of gender barriers; however, Mr. Schuester had assigned the song to _her_ first, and it was for _that _reason that Rachel had been upset, and not because it was Kurt to whom the solo was offered to instead)…

Where was she?

Right.

Although he had acted towards her with an unnecessary amount of hostility during their diva-off and his subsequent attempt at sabotage regarding her _fated_ relationship with Finn Hudson, he had apologized and had since professed a desire to be friends. Unlike Noah, Rachel was more than happy to accept the olive branch. Since then, Kurt had decided that they should be _close_ friends due to their similar diva-esque qualities that would render them _infinitely _more useful as a pair than as opposing forces. They had even talked to Mr. Schuester about doing _Defying Gravity_ as a duet (Rachel _knew_ he had blown that note intentionally, even though she had yet to coerce him into admitting it) because, as Kurt had so eloquently put it, their fierceness would ultimately mind-blow the judges into giving them first place on merit alone.

Rachel knew that Kurt's assertion was an exaggeration, but she was still very confident about their ability to perform more-than-admirably as a unit. Their voices blended beautifully together.

"For today, you poor sad soul, I'd like to discuss your shirt."

"What?"

"Oh, I didn't tell you? I've decided that I'm only going to focus on one garment of your horrific ensemble a day, because finding the words to accurately lambast the whole picture is just exhausting. Today, what stands out the most is your shirt. I've never seen you wear it before and, I want to be very clear about this, I never want to see you wear it again."

"This was _not_ my first choice for a blouse this morning. In fact, even _I_ am forced to admit that this is a perfectly horrid wardrobe decision made hastily and partially in the dark, for reasons I am not willing to divulge. I will have you know that when I was picking out my outfit yesterday afternoon, I chose a shirt that I felt would pass your _unnecessarily harsh_ regulations. Unfortunately, it has now been destroyed by fifteen slushies."

"Yeah, we heard about that," Kurt admitted, referring to Mercedes, who murmured a somewhat sympathetic agreement before turning back to her phone game of Tetris. "I followed your trail of slime to the bathroom after class, but you were already gone."

"Principal Figgins let me go home and shower, for which I am _extremely _grateful because I didn't bring an extra set of clothes today."

"Damn, really? Talk about irony," Mercedes chuckled.

"This is an important lesson, Berry, so listen up. Always bring your more fabulous clothes as your backup. There is a pattern with these fools. Once a day is enough for them. You come to school in your least fashionable wardrobe options – not a big hurdle for you – and then bring the ones you _really_ want to wear in a bag, preferably waterproof. That's how I'm starting to do it. Fortunately, no one has thrown me in a dumpster since Puck stopped being quite such a…"

"Douche?" Mercedes supplied. Kurt laughed.

"Douche," he agreed.

"He's still sort of douchey," Mercedes argued. Before Rachel could reply with her vehement defense of Noah's character, Kurt hummed an agreement and turned back to look at her with an eerily determined expression on his face that Rachel recognized all too well.

"As I was saying. Your shirt…"

Mr. Schuester fortunately walked in with Artie and Tina in tow, and Kurt turned his attentions to asking Artie about an arrangement on the guitar that he wanted to hear so he could see if it would go with his mash-up. Rachel stood up, smoothed out her skirt, and walked up to Mr. Schuester quickly.

"Hey, Rachel. How are you feeling?"

"Much better, thank you. First of all, let me apologize for the way I spoke to you earlier. It was inappropriate, and I am sincerely sorry, but considering the circumstances I hardly think I can be held accountable for my harsh tone."

"It's fine, Rachel. You were right. I shouldn't have talked to Puck like that. I didn't realize that the two of you got back together."

"Oh, uh, yes. We did. I decided that I was being unfair to him. My expectations as to the maturity level of high school boys have been irreparably skewed due to my viewings of shows like _Veronica Mars _and _Gossip Girl. _Which I watch for purely educational value, of course. One never can be too well-versed in one's own culture."

"Well, I'm really happy for you. Puck's a good kid."

Rachel gave him a doubtful look, but continued.

"Noah would like me to tell you that he's going to be a bit late today. I don't know why."

Mr. Schuester frowned at her thoughtfully.

"He seemed pretty angry earlier."

"Yes. I assume it is because he is very protective of me. It's one of his strengths as a romantic partner. I _am_ a budding star, after all, and with creeps like Jacob Ben-Israel and David Karofsky out there, it's good to know that someone is watching my back."

"And you don't know where he is?"

"No. It may surprise you to hear that I am actually a very low-maintenance girlfriend when it comes to something like this. Alone time is essential for me to grow as a person. What Noah does when we are apart is entirely his business."

Mr. Schuester still looked suspicious, but Rachel decided not to worry about it. She knew that it was likely that he thought Noah was getting some sort of revenge for what had happened to her. Which was perhaps just as well if she wanted him to believe that their relationship was legitimate. The boyfriends in teen dramas often stood up for the girls they dated, after all. She smiled at him before walking back to her seat beside Kurt.

"What was that about?" he asked. "You're not still hoping his wife will croak so you can drink his kool-aid, are you? Because how are we expected to believe that Finn is your one true love when you're finding new guys to fixate on every week?"

"No, Kurt. It's nothing like that. I was simply informing him that Noah is going to be late for rehearsal."

"What, Puckerman? Why?"

"I don't know. He didn't tell me."

Kurt grinned.

"Did you and tall, dark, and angry get back together, further proving my Finn point?"

"What?" Rachel asked incredulously, but Mr. Schuester's proximity made her feel uncomfortable answering with anything other than, "Well, yes."

Kurt whistled lowly and leaned back in his seat, obviously impressed.

"Rachel, you are nothing if not questionable in almost every way."

Rachel was not entirely sure what that was supposed to mean or if it was a positive or negative thing, but she didn't feel like getting into it. She was far too concerned with rehearsal. Sectionals was looming ever-closer, and she knew that they were going to have to bring their best A-game if they were going to beat _anyone_. Many of the members of glee were so focused on the drama of Finn and Quinn and the baby that they hadn't truly rehearsed in _days_. It was all very frustrating.

Of course, Rachel would later admit that she should have seen it coming. _Of course_ she would be disdainful of the unfocused attitudes of the other members of the club only seconds before something happened that would shatter her focus entirely.

Noah walked into the room. She smiled at him automatically because she really did appreciate how nice he had been to her throughout her slushy crisis, and she wanted to show him that she was open to establishing a more permanent friendship if he was up for it as well. And then she noticed that his hand had been bandaged recently. And then she noticed that he was cradling that arm. And then she noticed that he smiled back.

She rose to her feet and realized that she had no idea what to do next. Was she supposed to run to him and hug him dramatically like one would expect a scene to go in a movie? Was she supposed to be angry? Was she supposed to grin a cheesy grin in his direction and act like she didn't know him while secretly feeling pleased that he had _obviously_ just caused Karofsky some sort of physical harm?

When being interviewed by magazines in the future, of course, she would not mention this part. Being so undecided about something as simple as this was unbecoming of a young performer. She had to be able to think on her feet, and she had to be prepared for every situation. When she retold this story, she would say that she knew right away what to do.

"Hey, Puck," Mr. Schuester said from over at the piano, and there was no missing the way his eyes lingered on Noah's obviously-injured hand before narrowing into suspicious slits.

Noah muttered a hello, evidently still irritated with Mr. Schuester for his inconsiderate behavior earlier in the day.

"Noah, may I speak with you in private, outside?" Rachel asked quietly. Noah grinned a little and nodded, and she knew that he was proud of himself. Whatever had happened, he was proud of himself. She wasn't sure yet if she considered that a good thing or not.

After she and Noah made it into the hallway, she closed the door behind them and made certain that there was no one else in sight.

Then, "What did you do?"

"What do you think I did?"

"I think you attacked David Karofsky."

"I wouldn't say _attacked_…"

"But you hit him."

"A few times."

Rachel sighed and shook her head, looking down at her scuffed flats and trying to sound as rational and as brief as possible when she next spoke.

"I think that I should make it _very_ clear that I am _not_ mad that you hit him. Violence, while preferably avoidable, is not something I necessarily frown upon if it is being used to help me or further my career. I have been made very personally aware that physical intimidation is far from the worst way to humiliate a person. However, I am _very_ angry that you told me not to do anything about him and then went and did something anyway. I would have liked to have been a part of the revenge scheming, and I _certainly_ would have appreciated the opportunity to prove to myself that I am capable of standing up to people who believe they are better than me."

"Who said this was about you? The guy was mouthing off, so I decked him. Four times."

Rachel paled instantly, a cold chill snaking down her spine. She tended to have admittedly overdramatic reactions to committing even the least offensive social faux pas, but she couldn't help it. She had been trained in a Pavlovian manner to expect ridicule and mockery whenever she did anything wrong at McKinley High School.

How could she have been so naïve to assume that Puck's confrontation with Karofsky could have anything to do with her? Why _would_ it? Karofsky and Puck were notoriously opposite in almost every way. It was natural for them to feel dissent towards one another, especially considering the contempt that each boy had for the other's sport of choice. On the other hand there was, of course, the fact that he had known _beforehand_ that he was going to be late for rehearsal, and there was also, of course, the fact that he actually _hadn't_ been late to rehearsal because obviously the fight had gone well for him, but…no, no. There was obviously an explanation for that. She was wrong to think that she'd had anything to do with it.

"Of course," she said quickly. She could not think of a way out of the embarrassing hole she had dug for herself by jumping to conclusions, so she just decided to speak her mind. With any luck, Noah would just stop listening as he always pretended he didn't, and he would eventually forget about the whole thing in his attempts to distance himself from the memory of her irritating chatter. "I apologize. I'm not the most adept when it comes to interpreting situations like this because I have always been raised to be myself no matter who that may be, and unfortunately that means shutting other people out. And admittedly I am a very irritating person according to nearly everyone, and I think sometimes it dominates the positive aspects of my personality, which I'm sure you are _painfully_ aware of by this point, so I truly have no idea why I thought that this was an extension of your attempts to be my knight in shining armor. It is now abundantly clear to me that your situation with Karofsky is actually a very personal one, as I momentarily forgot that you yourself were the victim of one of his slushy attacks. Obviously your retaliation would have more to do with that than it would have to do with what unfortunately transpired in the hall this morning, despite your kindness regarding the whole situation. I will admit that I am pleased that Karofsky received some sort of retaliation in any way, so I suppose that I must congratulate you on that. I'm very sorry that I misinterpreted the situation between us in any way."

With that and a curt nod that Liza would have been proud of, she twirled on her heel and strode with as much dignity as she could muster back into the practice room.

* * *

After Rachel was finally done talking, Puck had hoped to get a word in. Otherwise he wouldn't have bothered listening to the fucking rant at all. _God_, she talked a lot. But then she sort of fled into the room as primly as she possibly could because God knew that if she did _anything_ that wasn't prim and proper during glee club, the world would implode or something.

Puck sighed. And, okay, so maybe he sort of _deserved_ to have to listen to her rant that was basically just her telling him that he shouldn't have bothered standing up for her because she wasn't worth it. It was totally his fault that she had those bad feelings to begin with, and he should have just admitted upfront that the whole Karofsky thing _had_ been about her.

Why couldn't he just have told her the truth? Yes, Karofsky _had_ mouthed off and had given Puck an excuse to hit him, but normally Puck would have just sneered a threat and moved on. He generally didn't hit people at school because sometimes that led to getting caught which _always_ led to his mother crying over her fourth glass of wine about how he was turning into his father and there was nothing she could do to stop it. He didn't need that shit, especially not for a little turd like Karofsky whose humiliation wasn't worth the guilt trip. So, yeah, he had hit Karofsky because of what the dude had done to Rachel, and because of what the dude was saying about Rachel and the way he was leering at the video on his blackberry like it was some sort of porno tape and not a video of _Puck's damn ex-girlfriend_ getting humiliated in the hallway.

So they had only dated for a few days, but still. She had technically been his girlfriend so she was technically off-limits. And he'd taught that smug fucker (and his stupid face) a lesson. Four times.

Puck stood there in the hallway for a moment longer. He almost didn't want to go back into glee. His hand hurt and he didn't want to walk in and see Rachel looking all sad and helpless and fragile and…wait.

Why couldn't he just apologize to her? Tell her the truth?

There was still a chance, maybe, that he could make her feel a little less awful about herself. And, sure, Noah Puckerman didn't do shit for other people, but maybe this once he could make an exception. After all, he'd been so scary to her that she'd actually had a nightmare about him publically humiliating her in the worst way. Why did it matter if she thought that he was actually a sort of decent person? Why was he so determined to prove her wrong?

Sure, he could admit that the whole slushy thing that morning had changed things a little. He was starting to realize that it didn't _matter_ what the rest of these stupid kids thought about him. Strangely enough, he sort of liked being in glee. And if he sort of liked being in glee, then why was he supposed to act like he didn't?

Fuck it, it was too confusing. He didn't care. It wasn't a big deal or anything. Nothing else had to change. He'd just go in there, apologize to Rachel, and act like nothing had happened for the rest of the day. Rachel was so desperate for friends that she'd probably lap it up and forget he'd ever done something to make her feel sad in the first place.

He cringed a little at his inner monologue and told it to stop talking like that about his ex-girlfriend because she was off-limits and shit.

And then he pushed open the door and walked in.

Rachel was sitting back beside Kurt, a sunny smile on her face. The kid clearly wasn't buying into her whole fake split personality, because he had this frown on that made him look like he was getting ready to start waterboarding her until she told him the truth. Puck watched the ground as he walked towards her. Usually he tried to sit apart from everyone else and he let _them_ decide whether to sit next to _him. _He was Noah Puckerman, and a badass, but he was still pretty confused about who liked him in this damn club and who didn't. It seemed like they changed their minds every week. Not that he cared or anything, but still. He didn't want to look all desperate for friendship like Berry was, so he figured he should play it safe and let them decide for themselves. From what he had figured out so far, he thought that Tina and Artie sort of liked him but it was hard to tell since Artie couldn't get up to the back row of chairs where Puck usually sat, and Tina always sat next to his wheelchair. They always waved, though, and Puck wasn't sure when he had started waving back.

The kid was in a damn _wheelchair_. He couldn't just _not_ wave back. He could lock him in port-o-pottys…but that was before.

Puck thought maybe Kurt liked him too, though he wasn't sure how much of that had to do with his personality and how much of it had to do with the fact that he was a total stud and Kurt was into that. The same went for Brittany and Santana. They were always smiling at him and acting all nice and shit, and he was pretty sure that Brittany was just borderline retarded and so was always nice, and Santana probably regretted dumping him because he was a fine piece of ass and she _knew_ it. Her constant sexts sort of proved that, he thought.

Plus there were Matt and Mike, but they didn't really count because they were on football with him and had to at least _pretend_ to like him. The same went for Finn, even though they were supposed to be best friends (he didn't feel right calling them best friends in his head anymore without some kind of extra condition, because what kind of best friend gets trashed with his friend's girl and then has sex with her?). Puck would have usually sat with Finn, except that Quinn always sent him these little looks like: _if you sit next to me, I'll tell everyone you raped me _or some shit. He didn't know if she'd actually do that, but he thought he'd heard her threaten it under her breath one day when she was acting really hormone crazy, and since then he'd steered clear of her altogether.

And it had absolutely _nothing_ to do with what Mercedes had said to him or the fact that Quinn had caught him sexting when they had been on their seriously twisted babysitting date. He just wanted to make that perfectly clear. Mercedes was a total bitch who thought she was tough because she was like, one of three black kids in the entire town. She was way out of line with what she'd said to Puck, and if not for that whole maybe-threat out of Quinn's mouth, he would have been back up on Quinn's case in two seconds. And _Quinn_ was seriously messed up if she thought that he'd turn fucking with Finn's life into a _regular_ _thing_ with the whole babysitting date. If she wanted to tell Finn, that was one thing. He'd be there to support her or whatever, but the truth was that he didn't like her the way he was supposed to like her. He thought she was sort of a bitch, and if it wasn't for the fact that his fucking _daughter_ was in there, he'd still be ripping on Finn in the locker room for dating the celibacy chick. But he'd owed it to his kid to give it a shot. And, to be totally honest, playing house with her had been a little creepy. He was sort of happy about the fact that it proved he'd make a good dad, and he and Quinn made awesome parents together, but it still felt like playing house with his best friend's girl. And he was maybe sort of a little happy that she was pissed at him, because at least if she wanted help, she'd only want help for the baby. At the moment, that was all that he was willing to give.

So, basically, (shit, even his thought process was fucked) there was no way he could sit with Finn and Quinn. And if he hadn't been hanging out with Rachel earlier that morning, his internal monologue would have been about three pages shorter.

Rachel. She was the only one who actually sort of _liked _him, he thought. And not only because she wanted to be friends with _everyone_. He had given up football for her, and even though she'd said that she hoped he hadn't, he knew she secretly loved the fact that someone did something so freaking huge just because of her. And because she was hot. Of course, if he'd known that she was going to dump him, then…well, then he probably would have done the exact same thing. Only maybe with roses because maybe that would have been the jumpstart she needed to realize that he had done something awesome that Finn had not. Whatever. At least she still _tolerated _his presence like he sort of tolerated hers. And after that morning, he was still pretty convinced that he was on the road to some _serious_ benefits. So he was definitely going to have to sit with her. Which meant that he definitely was going to have to apologize.

He looked up from the floor, and he was like two feet from the chair next to her, and Kurt was totally looking at him with this weird expression while Rachel was chattering away, not even noticing where Kurt's eyeline was directed.

"…and then daddy said that I wasn't old enough yet for the responsibility, which I think is highly unfair because they were making this judgment based on data that they've collected through talking to some of the other parents in this town, and I think we all know that I'm fairly mature for my age and thus the same standards should not be applied to my situation…"

And that was when Puck had enough. He sat down in the chair purposely rough so that one of the metal legs slid into hers and jostled them both. She turned to look at him with surprise, her eyes widening.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"It's fine. You should work on your posture, though. Slumping around may give you the appearance of being a badass, but it's really not good for your back."

"No, I mean…" he sighed. It was easy to talk to her back when they were dating, because he'd just _say_ shit to her, like stuff that he normally wouldn't say to anyone, because he knew that even if she told everyone about how he'd apologized to her in the bathroom about all the slushies, people would assume that he was just doing it because he wanted to get some public bathroom action or something (which was really just as gross as it sounded, he unfortunately knew). He hadn't cared about what anyone thought because he was dating Rachel Berry and people were going to expect him to be pulling out _all_ the charm stops to get her into bed before dumping her.

But now was different. Because they weren't dating and he didn't have an excuse. He was just being nice because he actually sort of liked her sometimes, like when she wasn't talking quite so much and when she wasn't trying to whine her way into stardom or chatter someone into agreeing with whatever stupid point she was trying to make. And when they were alone she was really cool, because she wasn't pulling out all the SAT words from the past one thousand years to impress people with her smartness, and her voice was all soft and honest, and he felt like he could tell her anything.

And, shit, Rachel was staring at him because he'd clearly been spacing out pretty hardcore.

"You mean what?" she asked, and he had a feeling that she already knew but was just too afraid to say it because of how he had reacted in the hallway. He sighed. She made it _really_ freaking hard to like her sometimes. She seriously wanted him to tell her even though she already knew the answer?

Well, shit, but it _did_ make sense. He'd been an ass, and this was her crazy way of making sure he knew that. And he guessed that was better than just ignoring him entirely until he finally got sick of waiting and apologized for things he didn't even know he'd done wrong, like what Santana used to do to him and what Quinn occasionally pulled (even though he had a feeling that was more of a 'stay away from me' thing than a 'I want more attention than you're willing to give', thing).

"Fine," he said through clenched teeth. "I lied out in the hallway. Karofsky's a turd. He doesn't matter. I meant what I said about that in the car. Nobody gives a shit what he thinks. He's not usually worth the bruises on my knuckles, but today I figured I'd teach him a lesson because what they did to you was really unfair. Happy?"

"I'm placated," Rachel answered, and really, why the fuck couldn't she just use normal words?

Mr. Schue looked between them with an expression that pretty clearly said how much he was judging the whole situation, but Puck couldn't bring himself to care. He draped his arm over the back of Rachel's chair so that Rachel didn't notice but Schue did. The guy could go to hell if he thought that Rachel was too good for him.

Even though it was maybe true. The jury was still out on that.

* * *

Rehearsal was as stupid and pointless as always. Puck seriously was starting to question Mr. Schue's organizational skills. Mostly because Rachel kept muttering about his lack of them under her breath, but also because it was true. The guy couldn't organize a practice to save his life. They'd maybe sing a number together (if Mr. Schue wasn't set on doing team building exercises or making everyone hate their lives by sticking Finn and Rachel in a duet so everyone could watch them verbally fuck each other), and sometimes it would sound good and sometimes it would sound like shit, but Mr. Schue didn't seem to care either way. He'd just clap his hands and tell them they were doing great, unless he'd had a shitty day with his wife, and then he would tell them it was crap.

It was weird, but Puck totally understood why Rachel was all pissy about Schue's teaching methods. They'd been in Glee for _weeks_, and still Mr. Schue was all about the team building and splitting the club into groups that they normally wouldn't hang with. It was kind of annoying because they were sort of already friends, and that was really as close as Puck wanted to get to people he used to throw in dumpsters and portable toilets.

"Hours wasted…Cabaret would have been more…of _course_ he has no appreciation for my…and _I'm _the one who's delusional?"

Rachel was muttering to herself as she picked up her backpack and started shoving her music sheets into it. Puck knew that meant she was _really_ pissed, because those couple of days when he had been dating her she'd been like, creepily focused on making sure her sheet music stayed neat. And when he'd accidentally crumpled some when he failed to notice that they were on her bed before he sat there, she'd had an epic diva fit that only ended once he finally could get close enough to kiss her and get her to shut the hell up.

For a few seconds he was torn between starting up a conversation or just getting out of there before she spotted him and started ranting in his direction instead of just under her breath, but he decided to stay and weather the storm. He was kind of getting used to her talking, only because it was totally hilarious once she _really_ got going. Like, to the point where the funny part almost overwhelmed the annoying. _Almost_.

"Dude, glee practice _always_ sucks."

Her head snapped up with surprise, and he almost started to feel bad for startling her before she opened her mouth and he had no idea why he ever would have cared because, dammit, he'd walked straight into a trap.

"It's simply ridiculous, Noah. Mr. Schuester is so involved with whatever problems are consuming his own life that he's completely ignoring _our_ needs as a group. If we don't win sectionals there is no way that we…"

"Yeah, I know. That's why I said it sucks. You don't need to talk so much all the time. Damn."

Rachel blinked up at him a few times before dropping her mouth open to speak. He looked at her pointedly and she slammed it closed. But before he could start buying the decorations for a party, she opened it again.

"I'm sorry, Noah. I'll have you know I have been working on curbing my natural verboseness." She seemed to realize what she was saying, and then she sighed. "Evidently I haven't been trying hard enough."

Puck was about to say that it didn't matter because sometimes her rants were sort of funny, but then he felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned with surprise to see Finn towering over him with that stupid look on his face that he always got whenever he talked to Rachel. It looked like someone had just punched him in the stomach with happiness. Puck was seriously starting to consider punching the kid in the stomach with _fists_.

"Hey, Rachel," said Finn brightly.

"Hello, Finn," Rachel replied, and Puck didn't miss the way her eyes did a quick sweep of the room so she could figure out if Quinn was anywhere nearby.

"This guy bothering you?" Finn asked, and come _on_. What _was_ it with these people and their stupid passive-aggressive not-joke jokes? Puck was really getting sick of it.

"Oh, no," Rachel laughed, like it was funny or something (it wasn't). "Noah and I were just talking about rehearsal and how the organization of our meetings is unhelpful and sub-par."

"I totally agree."

Puck glanced at Finn doubtfully because, _really_, like _Finn _knew what sub-par meant (Puck, for the record, _did_).

"You did a wonderful job today, though, Finn. I think that our duets are getting stronger as the weeks wear on."

"Definitely, yeah. You did really good too. Not that you don't _always_ do good, because you do, because you have like the best voice in the world or something."

Rachel laughed and ducked her head a little so that her hair fell in her face. And it wasn't that Puck was _jealous_ of the way she was looking up at him (okay, so maybe he was, so what?), but she was his damn ex-girlfriend! No one wanted to see their ex-girlfriend act like that towards _anybody_. Especially not their supposed best friend.

"Yeah, Rachel, you did really awesome today."

Shit. Was that _his_ voice that said that? Her eyes swiveled to face him, so it wasn't a _total _loss of dignity because at least she wasn't looking past him anymore, like he was just an obstacle in the way of her beloved, dim-witted Finn (hot tub baby? _Seriously_?)

"Noah! Thank you! I believe that's the only compliment I've ever heard you give to anybody. I am appropriately flattered and confused by it."

She fixed him with this smile that was totally something that she'd give to the person who handed her that award she really wanted for being good on Broadway. He smiled, and tried to make it look as genuine as possible. Which maybe wasn't as hard as it should have been. _Maybe_.

"Uh, so, what are you doing right now, Rachel?" Finn asked, looking between them with a confused expression. "Cus I was going to go get some ice cream or something for…"

Puck and Rachel both turned to look at him, and Puck was super stoked to see that _she _was frowning too. Because even though Quinn was sort of a bitch to her like _all the time_ (even though Rachel had never done anything to her except flirt with her boyfriend a little bit, which was _nothing_ compared to what _Quinn_ was doing to him by not telling him the truth about that fetus kid), Rachel still liked Quinn most of the time. At the very least, she felt _bad_ for her. So she didn't exactly look pleased that he was asking her to hang out while he was running errands for his pregnant girlfriend. Plus she was probably pissed that he was asking her to hang out at all, knowing how she felt about him and how he was going to obviously act like a perfect person (because Puck was sort of convinced that Finn just _was _perfect. Like naturally or whatever) which would only make her want him more even though he was _never_ going to break up with Quinn unless…

Unless everyone knew the truth about Puck being the father. Which meant that everyone would hate him, including Quinn, and he would probably be a bigger loser than Berry _ever _was, because he'd actually done something to _deserve_ everyone hating him. And it completely sucked, because no one would have ever even known he'd slept with Quinn if his sperm weren't such little badasses. And then he wouldn't feel all obligated to be with her even though she was sort of a bitch most of the time. Because she was Finn's girl, and that was the way it should always be. Except now Finn had _two _girls, and Puck was getting confused.

"I have a lot of homework," Rachel said simply. Short and to the point. Holy shit, was he rubbing off on her?

"Oh. That's cool. Maybe we could hang out some other time, when you're not as busy."

He smiled at her, and _there_ it was. Rachel's face got all big and happy like it had when Puck had walked into glee rehearsal after blowing off football practice. And it really, _really_ just wasn't fair.

"Yeah, okay," she said softly. Finn turned and walked away, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and calling a goodbye to them as he went. Puck waited until his supposed best friend was out of the room before he followed.

"You're pathetic," he said, even though he knew it was a dick thing to say. Whatever. It was true. She was hanging all over the kid like he had a grape-flavored penis, and she didn't see anything wrong with it.

"I'm sorry, _I'm _pathetic? All you _do_ is mope and stare at Quinn. What are you trying to do, Noah? Win her over with your brooding stare and your impressive capacity for creepiness? Somehow I doubt that's going to make her weak in the knees!"

Puck understood every word except for 'capacity', which meant she was _really_ pissed. But so was he.

"Well at least I'm not trying to steal a pregnant girl's boyfriend."

"_Steal_? Is that what you think I'm doing? Did you _not_ just hear me turn Finn down? Have you any idea how much that hurt to do? But, no, of course not. What I feel doesn't matter, right? I'm just the girl who talks too much. I'm the ugly girl with the bad personality who is universally despised by everyone. I'm not even the star of my own story. My character is being played by Quinn Fabray."

Shit. Now he felt bad. And a tiny voice in the back of his mind which may or may not have been his conscience was telling him to apologize. Again

"I'm sorry," he said quickly before she could storm off or, worse, go into another rant. "It's just…dammit, why does everyone like Finn so much, huh? Everyone's always forgiving him for everything he does. It's stupid. _He's _stupid. He chose football over glee and you _still _dumped me afterwards. Like what I did didn't even matter. He treats you like shit and uses your feelings against you and still you're making moon eyes at him like he's the fucking messiah. And then he's flirting with you like crazy but Quinn is _still_ convinced that he'd make a better…"

He broke off and shook his head, refusing to meet her eyes. He hated it when he lost control like that. Losing control was okay when it was (for example, hypothetically) beating the shit out of a slushy-throwing son of a bitch. It was _not_ okay when it was spilling his deepest secret (other than the one that he secretly sort of liked Rachel Berry a little because that was way more embarrassing than sperminating the queen of the celibacy club) especially when it wasn't _his_ secret to spill. He was lucky that he had stopped himself just in time (and he was lucky that Mercedes was such a bitch that she took the lying baby mama's side instead of his) because even though he _really_ didn't care what anyone thought about him, he still didn't want them all to hate him just yet.

Especially not Rachel, if he was being honest. And, really, why stop now?

She was looking at him all weird and misty-eyed like he'd just bought her Liza Minelli for her birthday or something, and he was actually starting to get concerned when she finally spoke.

"I had no idea you felt that way."

"Yeah, well. It's not exactly something I like to advertise. I've said it before: I'm a damn _stud_. I shouldn't be this bothered by it."

"I vehemently disagree, Noah. What you just said almost exactly mirrors my feelings about Quinn Fabray. Despite the fact that I have done my best to befriend her even through her overwhelmingly negative behavior towards me, I still feel as though everything I do is overshadowed by her. She has everything that I want, except for her parents because mine are infinitely superior despite what she might have said about them in the past, and I have no idea what I could do differently to live a life as charmed as hers once was. And Finn will choose her over me every time."

She looked at him, her face doing that soft thing that it did sometimes when she felt bad for him or maybe for herself.

"You're not going to start crying, are you?"

"Not at the moment. I just feel very sorry of the both of us. What are we doing, wasting our high school years pining after people who don't want anything to do with us?"

"I wouldn't say that they don't want _anything_ to do with us."

"Noah..."

"Okay, fine. They want nothing to do with us. Whatever."

"Why do we do this to ourselves? And not just us. _Everyone_. Every time I go into the bathroom I find some girl crying about some boy." She grinned at Puck, but only a little. "Most of the time about you. Why can't we force ourselves to stop caring?"

Puck didn't even have the _urge_ to tell her she was being stupid or cheesy or whatever. Which, he wasn't sure, but he thought that showed a serious sign of personal growth.

"Because we're stupid kids with stupid ideas about how the real world works. That's what my mom always says. And maybe she's sort of right."

Rachel nodded and looked down at her hands, all tiny and cute and clenching and unclenching by her sides. He lifted his eyes to her face and watched the way her lips were trembling. Sometimes that meant she was just trying to think of what to say, but sometimes that meant she was about to cry. He really hoped that she wasn't about to cry.

Then she looked up at him.

"I think she's right, too. Here I thought my destiny to be with Finn was prewritten in the stars. The talented young ingénue and the rugged jock with leading man potential. Instead I find that the real world rarely works in archetypes and predestination."

"Arche…? Whatever. Look, don't get down on yourself because of the whole Finn thing. As long as you don't tell anyone that I said this, I'll admit that you're a pretty awesome chick. And I mean that. So it's Finn's problem if he doesn't want you. Quinn's a bitch, and it's not just the hormones."

"But everybody likes her. _You_ like her."

"Yeah, but I don't like myself most of the time."

She smiled and stepped closer to him. For a second he thought she was going to kiss him, and he totally would not have pushed her away even though it was a weird moment to start kissing at. He was almost waiting for it, but then she started talking again. But, really, he sort of didn't mind. This conversation was making him feel better. Ever since he'd heard about the baby, his stomach had been tying into knots over and over and over again, but talking to Rachel was making them feel looser because she was the only person who could even remotely understand what was going on with him.

Scary thought, but true.

And as long as it was just the two of them, he could say whatever the hell he wanted to say. So he really couldn't hate the scariness as much as he wanted to.

"Noah, you are an incredibly confusing person, but I have to admit that I am touched by your honesty. And I would just like to say that, as of recently, there isn't much that you have to be ashamed of. You should hold yourself to a higher standard. If you truly like Quinn, then I applaud you for your determination to win her over. However, if you have only attached yourself to Quinn because you feel that you do not deserve someone who possesses the basic capacity for kindness, then I think that you should reconsider. Because you deserve someone who will treat you well. We both do."

They were both sort of dancing around the issue, and Puck knew it. He wasn't sure if she wanted to suggest it as much as he did, but he knew that either way he was going to have to do it because she'd probably never think that he was going to say yes in a million years if she had the stones to ask. So he was going to have to make it abundantly clear that…

Shit. _Abundantly_. And he was sort of beginning to understand what _capacity_ meant. Spending time with her was clearly fucking with his brain.

"Look, Rachel…I know that you're probably going to want to say no to this, but just think about it."

"Are you going to ask me if I want to get back together with you for the purposes of working on boosting one another's self esteem so that we may one day be able to find a way to move around the ridiculous feelings we have for Finn and Quinn because they are never going to end their relationship just as you suggested and we should learn to deal with that fact by taking comfort in a close friendship and each others' bodies if not something more?"

He blinked a few times and imagined that he probably looked a little bit like she had when he'd given her that first grape slushy the day before they started dating for real.

Then, "Uh…yeah."

Rachel nodded happily.

"Yes, Noah. I'm glad that you asked. Or…were going to ask. I admit that I regretted breaking things off with you, but I know now that it was for the better. Otherwise we would not have had this very enlightening conversation."

"Yeah, just think. We could have avoided the whole thing."

To his surprise, she actually seemed to pick up on the sarcasm, but she just smiled at him and held out her hand. He took it gladly and maybe with a little bit of relief. Because, shit, he wasn't sure how he felt about Rachel yet, or how he felt about Quinn, but he knew that it was nice to be back to making out with a hot girl on a regular basis and he knew that Rachel made it a point to make him feel good about himself, and that was really all he could ask for at the moment. So maybe they weren't each others' first choices, but they were each others' best choices. And if that wasn't damn poetry, he didn't know _what _was.


	6. Now Sans the White Horse

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! This isn't nearly as long as I hoped it would be, but I was determined to post while I had the time, so here it is! I hope this chapter lives up to the others. I'm going to start getting more into the plot now and hopefully I'll be able to update soon! Thanks again for reading!

* * *

6: Now Sans the White Horse

As Noah was escorting her down the hall after practice and after the unexpected rekindling of their romantic relationship, Rachel could _not_ wipe the smile off of her face. She had never imagined that she would be _glad_ to be back together with Noah Puckerman, but she was. Dating him had been an interesting and educational experience, to say the least, and she was looking forward to discovering what their second attempt at a romantic endeavor was going to hold. Of course, she was going to have to work on conquering her feelings for Finn because it really was quite unbecoming for a girl to be dating one man and making 'moon eyes' at another, as Noah had so eloquently put it. That particular social construct was, after all, her prime reason for breaking off her first relationship with Noah. She didn't want to have to make the same mistake twice.

And it _would_ be a mistake, because Noah's renewed interest in her provided an opportunity to liberate herself from her own expectations of what her young life was meant to consist of. She could overcome the confines of her heart and she could engage in a physical relationship with Noah as a way to make it all make sense. Sure, it was obvious that he didn't listen to half of the words that she said, and he had no interest in the finer arts like Finn did, but he was much more intelligent than his friend and he often had insightful things to say when there was no one else around. He was _far_ too concerned with his reputation, but she supposed that she could relate to that, in a way, because although _her _concern was a matter of her future career and not the public opinion of immature adolescents whose affections could only be bought through violence and intimidation, she still had to be very careful of the things she said and did when in a public forum. Besides, she thought it spoke to their romantic chemistry that they were both able to be more true to themselves when they were alone together than when they were around their peers (the same was true for Finn, but she was willing to ignore that for the sake of her own internal argument).

She finally broke the silence, because she was uncomfortable with the quiet that had settled between them.

"I'm glad we're doing this, Noah. Admittedly, although _I _broke up with _you_, I was afraid to recant my decision, though I want you to be aware that I _did_ regret it. What we had was not ideal, and it was inarguably started for the wrong reasons, but it was certainly a positive experience overall, and you were right about Finn and Quinn and how they're never going to break up. And…and, okay, you were right about Finn, too. He's used me. He's treated me unkindly. And now that we are together, I feel comfortable admitting that although my feelings for Finn eclipse all others, I have always been slightly attracted to you, and after our brief liaison, that attraction _did_ evolve into a bit of a crush that had more to do with your surprisingly pleasant personality than your overall exceptional physicality. You're a wonderful person, Noah, both inside and…well, I think you know the rest."

She liked to compliment him, because he would always smirk a little. But it wasn't his slushie-throwing smirk or his insult-giving smirk. It wasn't even his leering smirk which was sometimes meant as a compliment and was sometimes not. The compliment smirk was something entirely different. He _truly_ trusted her opinion of him, and she thought that was absolutely lovely. When she complimented Finn, he usually tried to brush it off. That displeased her because she was very careful with what compliments she gave to people, and she did not like for them to be ignored for the sake of appearing modest.

"You're pretty cool too, sometimes," Noah replied. He sighed, then offered, "Okay, most of the time. Just don't start camping out in front of my house or wallpapering your room with shirtless pictures of me, and we'll be cool. I've heard things."

"Noah, you've _seen _my bedroom. Several times. Despite what you may have heard, Quinn's nasty rumor about Finn's face being on my pillowcase is just that. A rumor. You'll find that there are many of them swirling about the school."

"Started by Quinn?"

"Is there anyone else in this school who dislikes me enough to actively sabotage my reputation?"

"You got a point. Most people just dislike you enough to trip you, or slushy you, or whatever."

Rachel frowned and tried her hardest not to sound _too _sarcastic. "Yes. Thank goodness they only dislike me _that _much."

Noah looked at her, and she thought that maybe he appeared sympathetic, although he quickly evened his expression into a much more characteristic glower of passivity (she knew that the description did not make sense, but the truth was that Noah was at his most peaceful when he looked as if he was searching for a fight).

There was another short silence, but this time Noah broke it with, "Need a ride home?"

"Oh, yes, please! And thank you. Usually I have to walk home because my fathers work late. And, as it's getting colder, and thus becoming darker earlier, it would be wonderful to avoid that."

"Dude, that sucks. Why don't you just ask one of the glee kids for a ride home?"

Rachel chuckled to herself and looked at him pointedly as they stopped at Noah's locker.

"I am not an easy person to get along with. I know it, they know it. _You_ know it. They bring it up at every opportunity and either do not notice that I'm hurt by it, or they simply do not care. And while I am trying to work on it, the affections of the club are frustratingly fickle. One step out of line, and I could be ostracized again. I have recently begun asking Kurt for individual rides home on days when I don't feel like walking, but I feel that as a whole it is better not to set a permanent date, just in case. For example, I can see from here that his car is no longer in the parking lot. He was supposed to drive me home today. I think it is safe to assume that he forgot about me."

"So you actually go out of your way to not make plans with these people, just in case they start hating you again? Rachel, that's fucked up."

Rachel shrugged and decided not to say that termination seemed to be an unfortunate inevitability in all of her friendships, because her number of successful experiences with social situations was admittedly limited and she often made grave errors in the eyes of the other students as a result. Noah didn't need to hear that. Besides, she was hoping that things with him could be different. She did not want to turn it into a self-fulfilling prophecy for the both of them.

Once again, she started to feel uncomfortable with the silence, and she hastened to speak.

"I want to let you know that I am very pleased that you defended my honor today, Noah. Even if there were other factors to the attack on David, since you admitted that at least part of it was a result of what he and his cronies did to me this morning, I think it is appropriate for me to thank you."

"Don't mention it," Noah said, and he sounded so sincere that Rachel almost wanted to pinch herself (it did not escape her notice that they were alone and there was no one else in sight, possibly in the entire school, but she made up her mind to ignore that glaring flaw in his character). He closed his locker and they again started walking towards the exit. She couldn't remember when they had started holding hands.

"I think I have mentioned already today that no one has ever stood up for me before. Well, that's not entirely true. When we hired a new choreographer briefly for New Directions, he told me that I needed a nose job before I would be able to become successful. Finn objected to that, and was then told by the choreographer that he is freakishly tall. It was all rather anticlimactic because the incident didn't escalate any further than that on the shiny knight front, and while it was wonderful for me to get the chance to stand up for myself, I would have liked a bit more action."

"Like if Finn punched the guy in the face?"

"I suppose. I cannot deny that there is a certain thrill that accompanies the idea of someone standing up for me in a violent manner. It's so much more primal than using words, don't you think?"

Noah grinned down at her and draped the arm with the bandaged hand over her shoulder.

"Finally, something we can agree on. Well…if 'primal' is a good thing, anyway."

"We agree on quite a lot of things, Noah. For example, I think we can both agree that this was a fantastic idea. A casual relationship is exactly what each of us needs. Physical comfort and the constant reinforcement of the idea that there is something inherently desirable in each of us. Additionally, a casual relationship will allow each of us to be honest with one another without worrying about hurting the other's feelings to an excessive amount. I have always believed that honesty is one of the most important things in a relationship, and…"

She trailed off. He was looking down at her with a strange expression, and she realized that she was babbling. Instead of saying anything else, she just leaned against his body closer, reveling in the feeling of his fingers tightening reflexively on her shoulder.

He wasn't perfect, but neither was she. Maybe Finn was too good for her, and maybe Quinn was too good for him, but she thought maybe they were good enough for each other.

And there was another thing to consider: Noah was a rugged jock with leading man potential, as well. Perhaps her fate was still written in the stars, after all.

* * *

Puck wasn't sure how it had happened. He hadn't actually planned on asking Rachel out again. He'd sort of just been angling for the whole 'friends with benefits' routine because, seriously, he thought she'd be all over that. She'd been _all about him_ earlier at her house with the whole towel thing, so he thought she probably wouldn't be totally against making out with him a few times, and maybe letting him get to a base that _wasn't _for losers. But then she'd asked about dating him again, and he had thought back to how cold he'd suddenly felt when he was sitting on those bleachers listening to her dump him. Because even though he had been wearing a sweatshirt, it had been like he wasn't wearing anything. He'd felt totally naked, and not in a good way. So he obviously sort of liked her, and it wasn't just about making Quinn jealous. He'd known from the second he bought her that grape slushy (the first one) that it wasn't. It was about something else, about being a better person maybe, as fruity as that sounded. So he sort of said that he'd date her again. And then for the first time since he was babysitting with Quinn, he felt _warm_.

Because maybe he couldn't hold on to his daughter or Santana or Quinn or any of his cougars, but at least he could hold on to a chick like Rachel Berry. And, actually, if the other kids would _really_ think about it, they would realize that it was sort of a more amazing accomplishment than holding on to a normal girl, because Rachel Berry was batshit crazy, and putting up with that for some regular action was downright awesome.

And maybe walking with her down the hall with his arm over her shoulders and hers across his waist wasn't as badass as he'd have like, but whatever. It was the end of the day, and there was no one in the halls. There was no one _anywhere_ except Mr. Schue who was talking to Miss Pillsbury outside the guidance office.

He was a little thrown when Rachel said that thing about honesty being super important in relationships or whatever she was saying (he honestly only caught like every other word), because he was hiding one seriously huge secret from her. And it wasn't like with Mercedes where it would just slip out by accident, because he knew there was _no way_ he could _ever_ let her know if he wanted her to still like him even a _little_ bit. Maybe if they broke up again he'd come clean, but only then. Maybe. Probably not.

Because _he had her back_, and even though he hadn't even realized that he'd missed having her, he felt pretty good about dating her a second time around because he knew she was doing it for real and not just to make Finn jealous (because obviously she'd seen how much that _hadn't_ worked last time) and she was like the easiest person to date because she just _didn't care_ about shit, and that was awesome. He wasn't going to give that up for his conscience. No way. His conscience could go cry in a corner. What did Rachel even know about what was important in relationships, anyway? He was probably the only guy who'd even looked at her other than Finn and that creepy Jew-fro kid, and he was _definitely _the only kid who'd agreed to date her, so obviously she didn't know shit.

It was the real world, and honesty only meant as much as you let it. Quinn had taught him that. Which maybe meant it was shit, but whatever. He was sticking to it.

"So I was thinking maybe we could hang out at my place tomorrow after glee," he said as they walked through the parking lot. "I mean, you never actually met my mom the first time and the point of dating you was sort of to get her to shut up about me never dating any Jewish chicks."

"You dated me because I'm Jewish?"

That was maybe a stupid thing to say, so he thought of something less stupid and rolled with it.

"I dated you because you're a _hot _Jew. If I just wanted to date a girl who's down with the Star of David, I could go a lot easier than you, you know. I could have gone for Abby Roth. She's pretty cute, and she probably would _kill_ to see me without my shirt off. But _you_, you're hot. And you sort of talk a lot and you're _really _a pain in the ass to impress because you didn't like me _at all_ until I fucking sang for you in front of _everybody_, but I think my mom would like that, anyway. Plus you're smart, and I think you could convince her that I'm not a deadbeat nobody like my dad because, you know, you think I'm cool despite all the mean stuff I did to you."

Rachel looked at him with…wait, were those _moon eyes_? They were! Shit, they'd been dating for all of three minutes and already she was getting crazy on him.

But, okay, it sort of felt cool to know that even though they were basically only in this relationship because they both hated themselves and needed a self-esteem pick-up, she still managed to feel something for him. And he was man enough to admit that he sort of felt something for her, too. Sort of. Not out loud, though. Until she got down on her knees and worshipped his penis properly, he wouldn't be admitting _shit_.

"Noah, I find it surprisingly admirable that you're willing to be so honest with me, and that you were willing to endanger your reputation in order to date me and make your mother happy. Of course I am rather disappointed to learn that your first proposal of dating was not as genuine as I believed it to be…this is different though, isn't it?"

He sort of hated when she got all quiet like that and stopped using big words, because that meant she was serious or sad, and he was starting to hate both of those things just as much.

"Yeah, of course this is different. And, anyway, I liked it the first time even though it wasn't genuine, or whatever."

"Are you ready to admit that you never would have broken up with me if I hadn't dumped you first?"

He sighed and looked around. Still no one in sight. And she was looking at him with that knowing smile, like she could read his brain, like she already had him all figured out. And, okay, so usually she was right, but still. It was lame.

"Fine. But only because I'm expecting to make out with you sometime in the near future. I wasn't going to break up with you. You're pretty cool even though you're not Quinn, and you made me feel good about myself all the time, even though you wouldn't let me touch your boobs."

"I think at this point it would be pertinent to point out that the conditions of our first relationship were different because I believed that saving myself for Finn was the only way I was going to receive the most perfect first sexual experience available to me."

Puck stared at her, open-mouthed.

"Wait, what the hell are you saying? Don't toy with me, Rachel."

"I'm not saying right away. I have to give this decision careful consideration, after all. But I can say with a fair amount of confidence that I will be ready to give up my virginity to you sooner rather than later. And I am prepared to let you touch my boobs far sooner than that."

Puck thought that maybe the whole world could have exploded into a zillion pieces, and he'd die grinning like a fool. Sex with Rachel Berry? She was crazy enough that it might be totally freaky and awesome. Like this one woman, Connie Fisher, whose pool he'd cleaned a few times the summer before she moved away. She was a total crazy person. Watched him through the upstairs blinds like he didn't know she was there, slapped him every time he looked sideways at her even when they were doing it, sometimes burst into hysterical tears of guilt while begging for him to go faster. It was weird as hell, but that was some mind-blowing sex.

"Awesome," he breathed.

But then they stopped in front of his truck and stared with identical expressions of rage as they took in the spray paint and the slashed tires.

Someone had murdered his truck. _His truck_.

And then he actually read the words on the side, and then three seconds later he actually _understood_ what it was supposed to mean, and then…then he just didn't know _what_ do to.

"Watch your Fag-Spawn," Rachel read aloud, voice shaking with anger. The white paint was still dripping onto the pavement below, and as they stood there in silence Puck could hear the tires hissing as they let out their last bit of air.

He wasn't sure what to say. Sure, it was _his _car, but the verbal attack was clearly affecting Rachel more than it was affecting him. And why wouldn't it? It was meant for _her_. Puck wasn't exactly riding the homo-support group express, but he knew how much Rachel loved her dads, and he knew it probably sucked to have someone say something like that about them.

"Shit," he said, finally. "Fucking Karofsky."

"This is disgusting," Rachel whispered, her voice breaking. He wanted to hold her hand or some shit to make her stop being so quiet and sad, but he was too nervous to move. Like any sudden motion would make her _really _start crying. He didn't want her to really start crying.

"He's gonna pay for this, don't worry."

"I was led to understand that he already _had_."

"Yeah, me too. Guess he needs a refresher course."

"You've already bruised your knuckles once today, Noah."

"Fine. I'll get him tomorrow. I have a quota to meet, anyway."

Rachel ignored his attempt at lightheartedness, and instead bit her lip as she stared at the truck.

"Do you think this is a threat? Or just a general homophobic slur?"

"Karofsky's not stupid enough to threaten you. Especially not messing with _my_ car in the process. No way."

It seemed like Rachel liked what he said, because she nodded all wisely and shook her hair out of her face. She still looked like she was about to cry, but maybe she looked a little tougher, too. Or was that just wishful thinking, because he _really_ didn't want to deal with her crying or whatever?

"Fine. I can accept that this is going to need to be dealt with in a probably violent manner. _No one _insults my dads like this. They have always taught me that the words themselves are not hurtful, but the intent behind them _is_. And this is clearly an attempt to slander my name by affixing some sort of negative connotation onto the healthy and loving relationship of my parents. It's unacceptable and disgusting, and I think that you are exactly the person to take care of this."

Puck was totally surprised, because Rachel Berry didn't seem like the sort of person who'd be okay with violence at all, but she had twice been sort of intense about it already. It was kind of awesome, and he was kind of glad that they were dating because it meant that he'd have more of an excuse to go apeshit. Plus the whole crazy-person sex thing was looking more and more likely.

"Yeah, all right," he said, and he held up a hand for a high five. Rachel looked at him like _he _was the one who had five heads, then reluctantly slapped his palm with her own.

"Come on, we can walk to my house," she said, tugging his arm.

"We're just gonna leave her here?"

Puck gestured to his car before Rachel could ask some stupid question about who the 'her' in the sentence was referring to.

"Unless you have four spare tires in the bed of your truck, Noah, we're going to need to get home somehow. You can call a tow when we're walking."

"All right. Cool."

They heard a car slowing down behind them at the same moment, and this time Puck _did_ step in front of her before he got a good look and saw that – again – it was just Mr. Schue. Before Puck could even think about hiding the damage to his truck, Mr. Schue parked and jumped onto the curb like one of them was bleeding from the eyes or something.

"Puck, is this your truck?"

"Yeah," was Puck's sullen reply. Mr. Schue turned to look at Rachel, so Puck looked at her, too. Obviously, they both expected _her_ to explain. She always had something to say about something, and this was a specially _something_ situation. She should have been running at the mouth the second she saw an authority figure, demanding that Karofsky be held accountable for his bigotry or whatever (holy shit, how did he even _know_ those words?). But Rachel wasn't talking. Like, at all. She was looking down at her feet, at her hands clasped in front of her, at the curtain of hair that was falling in her face. Puck watched as her tears dripped from her cheeks and to the pavement, and his stomach twisted painfully again.

The absolute worst kind of growing pains. And this time, he didn't think Rachel was even faking it. And he wanted to be mad that she was crying and putting him in this awkward position of caring about her when they'd only been dating for like two seconds, but he couldn't. Karofsky was an asshole, and he had gone too far. It was like insulting someone's mom, only worse, because he'd managed to work a hate crime into the same sentence. She deserved to be upset, and Karofsky deserved to be in a coma.

"Rachel, are you okay?" Mr. Schue asked. Rachel nodded and sniffled, and clearly she wasn't okay, but Mr. Schue didn't seem to know how to deal with her crying and quiet anymore than Puck did, so he looked back at Puck for help.

"Uh, probably one of the hockey players did this, Mr. Schue. One of the guys who slushied Rachel in the hall today. I sort of punched one of them in the face."

He held up his bandaged fist, and the blood was sort of starting to go through at the knuckles which made Mr. Schue wince. Puck didn't want to grin, but he did anyway. It looked totally badass.

"Did the assault happen on school grounds?"

"_Assault_? Gross. I just _hit_ him. I don't swing that way, Mr. Schue. And, anyway, _he_ started it. He had a video of Rachel on his phone and him and Mark Linder were playing it over and over again and making comments about her boobs and other worse stuff that I feel weird saying to a teacher. Mike Chang told me about it, so I went and told Karofsky to knock it off. He made another comment, so I hit him. That's sexual harassment, man. You can't talk about another guy's ex-girlfriend like that."

"From what you're telling me, they shouldn't be talking about _any_ girl like that," Mr. Schue said pointedly, but whatever. It was different, standing up for just any girl and standing up for your ex.

"Well, whatever. Anyway, I was going to give her a ride home, but then this happened. We're probs just going to walk to her house and call a tow. I don't think she lives too far, right Rach?"

The nickname sort of just happened, but it sounded right. She was clearly upset, and maybe it would cheer her up to see that he liked her enough to call her by a stupid nickname that no one else called her. She seemed to at least recognize the effort, and she reached out and curled her fingers around his, but didn't say anything or smile or any of the things he had hoped for. She just nodded.

"Yeah, so, we'll probably be okay," Puck continued awkwardly. It was really amazing, because he never thought he'd actually _miss_ Rachel's constant chattering. She'd totally know how to make Schue go away. Puck _didn't_, other than being a jackass about it, and he had a feeling that Rachel would probably be a little pissed about that and his near-future action would look even _less_ likely than it was already starting to look.

Nothing like a hateful slur against her parents to get a girl in the mood, after all.

He sighed and shrugged his shoulders a little, hoping that Schue would either get "chicks, man" or "I'll do my best, sir" from the gesture. Instead, the bastard just frowned. Puck thought he was going to say something about the total _weirdness_ of their relationship, which was very true but it also was not the right time to be talking about that, so he probably would have been a little annoyed. But to his surprise, Mr. Schue reached out and clasped a hand on his shoulder, trying to look all manly and tall even though he wasn't.

"Come on, kids," he said, gesturing to the rusty crap-heap that he probably called a car. "I'll drive you guys to Rachel's."

And, shit, would it really be too much of a dick move to ask if Schue could just drop him off at _his_ house? He wasn't sure he wanted to sit through a _three person_ _rant_ about homophobia, because he knew that a rant by one Berry would be ear-bleeding enough. He pictured Rachel's dads as like, male versions of _her_, so that meant it would be _three times as bad_.

But what could he do? Shake off the girlfriend he _just_ got back? Tell her that he wasn't ready for all this shit? Maybe. Technically, he could do that. Rachel would say 'of course' in that way she had, and he could probably even fool himself into thinking she would mean it when she'd say that it was perfectly all right. But Finn wouldn't do that. Finn would be all supportive and stroke her hair and hold her hand and probably sing her a fucking ballad while he baked her some cookies and suggested that they all sit down as a family and watch _West Side _Fucking_ Story_. Jesus.

Puck wasn't going to do most of that. But maybe he could hold her hand and listen to the three Berrys rant about how people sucked. Because he sort of agreed, anyway. What they did in their own time was their own business, and they'd raised a super smart and scarily driven chick. They made better parents than anyone, clearly, if they were able to avoid the whole teenagers-not-caring-about-anything problem. And Rachel clearly wanted him to feel good about himself, so why shouldn't he try to make _her_ feel good, too?

He told the part of himself with doubts to shut the hell up, and he followed Rachel into the backseat of the car silently. When they drove past what would be the turn to get to his house, he said absolutely nothing.


	7. Master Baiters

Sorry this is so late! Hopefully the length makes up for it!

Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Your awesomeness has made my day!

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**Chapter 7**: Master Baiters

Rachel still wasn't talking, which was getting freakier by the second, so Puck loudly told Mr. Schue where to turn. He thought she'd say something about how awesome it was that he'd remembered where she lived, but she didn't. And then he put his arm around her shoulders and _maybe_ sort of copped a feel, and she didn't even try to move his hand off the top of her boob. So he moved it on his own because if she was too sad to even freak out about it and call him a pig, then that just made him a skeeze, and _she didn't even say anything about him moving it on his own_.

He didn't have any other stops to pull to get her to stop being so quiet (and could _anyone _ever have predicted he'd ever think of Rachel Berry being quiet as a _bad _thing? And not only a bad thing, but like something to be legitimately worried about?), and he was definitely _not _going to make a play for some under-the-skirt action just to get a _reaction_ in the back of his teacher's car. Maybe if it was a chick who was willing, like Santana, but Rachel clearly wasn't feeling it.

He sort of felt like a jackass for touching her boob at all, so he wondered if he should kiss her hair to, like, make it up to her or something. He thought it would be a nice gesture, but he didn't do it.

No, that would be weird. He didn't want her to get the wrong idea.

"Okay, here it is. The one with the fence," Puck said, pointing to Rachel's house. Mr. Schue pulled into the driveway and it was pretty clear that no one was home from the lack of cars in the driveway or lights in the windows. Which, actually, was sort of a relief, because that meant that Puck's inner nightmare about three Berrys ranting was drastically reduced to just the one, and he knew how to shut _her _up.

"Are you sure the two of you are allowed to be…" Schue started, but Puck just smirked at him. Which was a pretty definitive 'probably not, but what are you gonna do about it?'

"My dads work late," Rachel said quietly, all wounded and sad and baby deerish. Which was probably the right route to go considering Schue's obvious crush on Miss P., who looked like a cartoon bunny ninety percent of the time. "They have given me permission to keep Noah in the house with me tonight, given my assault this morning."

See, _she _knew what assault meant: creepy and sexual or whatever. At least, he was _pretty_ sure that was what that meant. He'd Google it later.

"Okay, if you're sure," Mr. Schue said, still sounding doubtful. Rachel got out of the car and dragged Puck along with her.

"Thank you for the ride," she said quietly. Puck just waved over his shoulder. He still wasn't over the annoying '_Rachel's too good for you' _vibe that Schue was giving off. And, sure, it was pretty cool that he got to avoid walking home in awkward silence, but that didn't mean he had to like Schue's 'tude.

"See you kids in school tomorrow," Mr. Schue said, sending a _seriously_ vibetastic look in Puck's direction. Only, Puck wasn't sure what he was trying to say, because it sort of looked like a weird, weak ass version of a stink eye, only Schue was smiling, so it was sort of (really) creepy. To the point where Puck was pretty sure he'd be having a nightmare about Schue that night.

He stood there watching the car back out of the driveway for a while, but then he turned and saw that Rachel was waiting for him in the doorway.

"Are you coming in?" she asked shyly, and _that_, right there, was The Sign. The universal sign for '_Puck, come violate me on my parents' bed'_ that made his skin crawl with anticipation.

But, wait, that was weird, right? She still looked sad, which Puck had started to realize was generally not a good way to go if you wanted sex. The bump growing under Quinn's babydoll shirts was pretty much the worst reminder ever of _that_.

"Sure," he said, suddenly feeling really uncomfortable. He'd never felt the pressure of having to be any sort of moral judge, but this was different. He knew better, even though he hated it. So if she threw herself at him and wanted to have sex, he had to say no. No matter what she did or said…shit. It was going to be hard. Impulse control was not one of his strong suits.

But he was a guy, and he had needs, so he figured he could at least get it get a _little _far. Just not to the point of actual penetration with his actual dick.

He walked into the front foyer and tried not to look at her as she shut and locked the door behind him.

"My dads will be gone for another few hours," she said lightly. Puck thought maybe her dads were going to be gone longer than that, but he didn't want to say that because he didn't want her to think he was like, trying to score an overnight invite or whatever.

"Hey, is it cool if I use your phone? I gotta call my mom and tell her about the tires so she can figure out what to do about that. And she should probably pick me up 'cus I don't really remember how to get to my house from here, anyway, and I'm pretty sure it's too far for me to want to walk to."

"Okay," Rachel said, still quiet. Puck decided to head into the kitchen and call. He'd deal with the freakiness of the situation once he was done.

* * *

Once Noah moved into the kitchen, Rachel sat down in her father's favorite arm chair, dedicating herself entirely to the task at hand. The hateful slur scrawled across the side of Noah's truck, particularly the casual manner in which it was executed, as if the perpetrators had no idea that they were writing about a _person_ who had _feelings_, had startled her deeply. It wasn't that she was a stranger to such words, or even such _sentiments_. They lived in a small town with a miniscule LGBT population, after all. There were many people who objected to the lifestyle of the Berrys on a religious basis (which of course was entirely ridiculous) but Rachel wasn't concerned with them at that moment. She knew that the attack on Noah's car was executed chiefly by a revenge-driven group of Neanderthals rather than hateful hypocrites like Quinn's parents who preached tolerance while practicing the opposite approach to nearly everything.

It was not hard to plan revenge on people who relied on social and athletic status for self-worth. She didn't have much experience in that field, but she had a feeling that although she was finding teen television dramas to be less helpful than she would have expected when it came to romance, her knowledge of the subject of revenge that she had gained from such shows would probably prove useful. And she had just the right idea. She hurried into the kitchen where Noah had just hung up with his mother.

"I know what to do."

"About what? How _pissed_ my mom is? That would be cool. You might have to find a new casual boyfriend because, shit, I'm probably going to die tonight."

"Regrettably, no. Although from what you have told me of her in the past, I assume that informing her of the rekindling of our relationship might please her. I would, of course, leave out the fact that we are engaging in this relationship on a purely casual basis for the comfort of physicality and friendship alone."

"Right. Yeah. Sure." Noah sighed and sat down at the kitchen table before lamenting, "Man, my _truck_. I can't believe they did that to my truck."

"Your truck will be fine. What we should be concerned with is retaliation."

Noah arched an eyebrow at her.

"If retaliation means what I'm pretty sure it means, then I'm with you. But seriously, you gotta stop freaking me out with the fake emotional shit around Schue. You were, like, in a coma of sadness and it really freaked me out. That's not cool."

"I wasn't faking it! Noah, I was deeply offended by what those boys wrote on your truck. It took me a while to compose myself. I resent your implication that I was in any way acting out that indignation, although I can perhaps understand your confusion given our riveting performance in principal Figgins' office this morning. If it will assuage your concerns, I promise you that if I am going to be faking any sort of emotion in the near future, you will be well aware of it before the fact."

"Okay, uh, cool. Are we gonna make this a regular _thing_, cus I gotta tell you, the whole _casual _thing usually means, like, friends with benefits, and friends with benefits don't usually have to _comfort_ each other and shit."

"Do friends not engage in comforting activities?" Rachel asked incredulously.

"Well, I don't know, _girls _maybe."

"I don't think that's a fair generalization to make. I often see Artie being very comforting towards Tina."

"That's because he likes her."

Rachel bit her lip and looked down at the ground, feeling very exposed.

"Well, of course. Tina is wonderful. Anyone can see that he likes her. But…" She trailed off, unsure of how to continue even though she knew exactly the words she wanted to use.

"But _what_?"

At Noah's somewhat irritated prompt, Rachel reluctantly continued. She and Noah were completely honest with one another, after all. She didn't want to break from that tradition just because he was in an unfortunately gruff mood.

"Well, I assumed that if you'd agreed to reengage in whatever this is, I assumed that meant you liked me, at least a little. Is that not true? Is this just a purely physical endeavor for you? No friendship attached? Because if that is the case I will readjust my conceptions of what _this _is meant to entail."

Noah's face softened, like it had when he'd looked at her right after the slushy had hit his face when they walked together in the hallway during their brief initial romantic entanglement. He had looked shocked, hurt, and then he had seen her face (her horrified, admittedly slightly fearful face). His eyes had drooped, his mouth had curled downwards, and he had allowed her to lead him into the nearest bathroom in order to get cleaned off. She'd known at that moment that he was sorry for ever doing the same to her, although it would take him several more minutes to admit it aloud.

And he was looking at her like that again, only this time they weren't in a boy's bathroom, which made it all the better. Rachel could not ignore the way that her body was engulfed with a sense of tingling warmth.

"Rachel," he said quietly, standing up and towering over her. "You know I like you. You're cool, sometimes, and you're a lot less hard to understand when it's just the two of us. But Rach…this isn't like Artie and Tina. You like Finn and I…I like Quinn, right? This isn't going to be like…anything else, right?"

He was looking at her strangely, so she nodded. Quick, brief, and dirty. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. No, of course they couldn't ever _truly _like one another. What they had was a relationship doomed to fall to the wayside. They were Veronica Mars and Troy Vandergraff, they were Blair Waldorf and Lord Marcus, they were Angela Chase and Brian Krakow. Each of those boys represented a one act relationship fabricated to force the characters towards the _true_ happy ending that was awaiting each of those heroines. Veronica's Logan, Blair's Chuck, and Angela's dreamy-eyed Jordan. Rachel's Finn.

Noah was just another love interest designed to confuse and befuddle viewers. That was all. In the movie of her life, he would be played by a dreamy unknown, and Finn would be played by a rock star.

The fact that each of those soul mate counterparts was a reformed ne'er do well escaped her notice entirely. There was a light at the end of her tunnel vision, and that light was Finn. That light did not have a landing strip on his head or a penchant for bullying behavior. Her light didn't _need _reforming. Her light was perfect.

Noah was not. And if he got her body feeling tingly in a way that Finn did not, then she was sure that she had hormones to blame. Nothing more.

"Of course," she whispered, and she noticed that Noah seemed to find it as difficult to meet her gaze as she did to meet his.

* * *

He didn't want to admit it. Hell, he'd have rather died than admit it _out loud_. But, in his head, deep down, he was _sort of _willing to admit that he was a little (not _hurt_, not at all) bothered by the way Rachel had been so quick to totally reinforce the whole _casual_ part of their relationship. Like Puck didn't know. Like Puck wasn't the _king _of casual or whatever. And maybe he sort of liked the way that it felt to comfort her, and maybe he sort of didn't feel so nervous anymore and was starting to realize that the whole boyfriend thing wasn't _nearly _as difficult as he had hyped it up to be, but he still _knew _that they were just each others' jumping-off points to a better tomorrow. Her dream boy and his dream baby.

His mom was on her way to pick him up, so they didn't have a whole lot of time to go over what Rachel had in mind in terms of revenge for the following day. Plus she was talking like, way too fast for human ears to even hear, and she was using a lot of weird hand gestures and she was so excited that her boobs were sort of bouncing around all over the place and it was _totally _awesome, but also really distracting. At the end of her little rant when she looked at him all expectantly like he'd had any chance of catching _a single word_ she'd said, he just sort of smiled and hoped that would fool her into thinking that he had listened at all.

But she looked at him sort of like she knew he wasn't paying attention, and like she sort of knew he'd been staring at her boobs.

"As flattering as it is, Noah…" she started, but Puck was _not _going to listen to a lecture about decency after like an hour of dating. No fucking way. He stood up and smirked down at her with the typical Puckerman smirk, full of cockiness and just the right amount of lust. Rachel shut up. He grinned wider.

"Come on, my mom's gonna be here in like five minutes. What do you say we consolidate this relationship?"

Rachel laughed abruptly, covering her mouth.

"Consummate," she said quietly. But he didn't really mind when she corrected him, because she didn't say it all bitchy like most people did. She said it like she wanted to help him expand his vocabulary or something (and, God, he hated it, but she totally was, because he was actually starting to like, _remember _the shit she said to him).

"Whatever."

"I don't think we can quite get to that point in five minutes, Noah, but I appreciate the offer. Still, I think it would be appropriate if…"

She broke off abruptly and kissed him. Which, first of all, was really weird because usually _he _was the one who had to shut her up by smothering her with his lips, and second of all it was weird because he totally was not expecting it. Rachel was all talk, most of the time. She said she wasn't a prude or whatever, but she _totally _was. When he'd tried to get under her shirt last time, she told him to back off and spent the next fifteen minutes rearranging her clothes so it didn't look like he'd tried it. It was so lame. But this time, her shirt was even riding up a little in the back and when he put his hand on that strip of skin, she shivered at the contact but didn't pull back.

"Your hands are cold," she murmured against his lips, and she started pushing him back towards the couch on tip-toe. And the thing was, she was like _super _graceful. It was weird, because to hear Quinn and those girls talk about her, she was a total klutz who couldn't do anything right. But she was, like, balancing on the absolute _tips _of her toes, like those ballet dancers, and when they got to the couch she spun him, and pushed him down on the cushion, and it was like watching the Nutcracker or some shit (which he only went to because when he was nine his mom bought tickets for her anniversary but his dad was gone before they got the chance to go, and Puck figured that she shouldn't waste them). He leaned back on his elbows as she flitted to the curtains and pulled them closed, then turned back to face him in those knee socks, that skirt, that plaid sweater vest.

He smiled at her, trying to look encouraging or whatever, because he knew she was self-conscious about her looks, thanks in part to him and thanks in part to Quinn and the girls who called her RuPaul and Man Hands (neither of those things made sense, he was beginning to realize, especially since a commercial for _RuPaul's Drag Race _had made him aware of who RuPaul was). She smiled back and glided over to the couch. Then, to his surprise, she sort of _dove _right into it, straddling his waist and putting her arms down on either side of his head on the arm of the couch. Then she bent down and kissed him.

And, _damn_, but those sparks were _flying_. She was so take-charge and badass at that moment. Looking at her smirk was like looking in the mirror, and he felt a swell of something else besides lust…was it pride? He thought it might have been. He was _proud _of her for not pussying out. Which was weird, but made sense, he thought.

He brought one hand up and put it on the back of her neck. That was his favorite part of a girl's body, even though he'd never tell anyone that because it was such a super lame place to like when there were boobs and vaginas and inner thighs. But really, he liked it when he got the chance to put his hand there, because girls would turn to putty. Just a few fingertips pressing in the right places, and he could have them moaning and groaning and…yeah, well, Rachel wasn't quite ready for that, he thought. He moved his hand a little higher to tangle in her hair, and he brought her mouth closer to his, as if that was even _possible_.

Her hands were sort of flying all over the place, over his stomach, his chest, his shoulders, his face. It was weird, but totally awesome, because it was like she had twelve pairs of hands or something. And that was really cool to imagine because that would be the hottest thing ever, like having an orgy but with only one person.

He decided to try a little experiment, so his hands shifted a little lower. He brought them slowly down her back, trying _really hard _to ignore the way she arched into him when he did that, and the way she made that happy little purring noise in the back of her throat. His fingertips found that area of exposed skin again, and he carefully started to drag his hands up her sides, bringing the shirt and that awful sweater vest with him.

She didn't stop kissing him.

_This is it, Puckerman_, he told himself. _You're going to get to touch Rachel Berry's boobs. You might even get to round the corner to third if you're really lucky. Now just keep moving your lips, just like that, don't get distracted by how smooth her skin is, like it's constantly lotioned or whatever. Don't pay attention to that. Stop paying attention to your fingers, Puckerman! Distract her with your mouth!_

He forced himself to focus. This was a big deal.

His fingertips had just grazed the underwire of her bra when he heard the car honking outside. He growled under his breath and pushed himself into a sitting position. She sort of slid down to his lap area, still straddling him, and he was fucking _relieved _that he didn't have Finn's little 'problem', because it would certainly have been coming into play at that moment.

"Your mom?" Rachel asked breathlessly. One hand was splayed across his chest while the other was bent around his neck, and it was totally hot. He had a feeling that he'd be dreaming about _this _later. Or at least reliving it mentally once he was sure everyone else in the house was sleeping.

"Yeah," he said. "You still wanna come over tomorrow?"

"Of course. I'd love to meet her."

She finally removed herself from the couch, smoothing out her clothes and her hair. Puck tried not to gaze longingly at her chest area, but he couldn't help it. He'd been _so close_, and it had been torn away from him.

"All right, and we're gonna have to work in some make out time, too, because, you know, practice makes perfect."

He saw the way that her face fell instantly, and he wondered what she was so upset about. Was _she _the one starting to question the casualness of their relationship? Had she fooled herself into thinking that it had evolved into something else? Because Puck could pretty much understand; it was easy to forget sometimes. Or maybe she was upset because he was leaving and she wanted to make out some more. _That _would be cool, too.

She looked like she was trying to think of what to say, so finally she murmured, "Of course, all right. Sure."

Which was weird, because she didn't sound like things were okay or all right. She sounded upset. Not _really _upset, but a little. Upset enough to make him feel like maybe he did something wrong.

"Uh…okay. I'll see you tomorrow then?"

Because, fuck, but one of the perks of being in a casual relationship was avoiding the whole trying-to-figure-out-what-she-was-feeling thing. And if she had a problem with him, she could say it.

He bent down and kissed her on the lips, quickly, and she smiled up at him in this weird, adorable sort of way like she was trying to think of some way to tell him that he was awesome.

"Thank you for being so wonderful, Noah," she said finally, and it was like watching one of those fruity kids shows that his sister used to love, where the characters would just walk around senselessly complimenting each other all day, which was _so _annoying. But Rachel wasn't a fruity television character. She was a hot chick who actually liked him despite the fact that he was an ass. So he guessed he could probably make an exception for her and _not _think she was the lamest person _ever_.

"Well, you're pretty awesome, too," he admitted. His mom honked the horn again, and he was pretty sure that this one was an _angry _honk, which meant that he really had to go. Rachel seemed to recognize it for what it was, too, and she hurried him towards the foyer.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said brightly, strangely not walking him all the way out but ducking back into the kitchen as soon as he opened the door. He frowned, because every other time he had been to her house, she'd been all super polite and had insisted on walking him to the door every time. But this was different. He closed the door behind him, wondering if it still had to do with her being sad about whatever it was that he'd said to upset her. Then, he jogged across the front lawn and got into his mother's car. She frowned at him thoughtfully.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" she asked. "What happened to your truck?"

"Let's talk about it at home," Puck said quietly. She nodded and glanced back at the house, and suddenly her face lit up.

Puck turned back to see what she was smiling at, and he just _barely _refrained from losing his shit when he saw that there was a great big sparkling Menorah in the picture window of the Berrys' living room. That _definitely _had not been there when Rachel was closing the curtains. She'd probably dug it out of some cabinet and put it there just to make his mother happy.

He was going to have to remember to thank her, because that actually was frighteningly sweet.

"She's Jewish!" his mother exclaimed, putting the car into drive.

"Yeah, mom."

"Well, isn't that nice!"

* * *

Once Noah's mother's car had gone, Rachel took the Menorah down and put it back into the closet. Then, she ran up the stairs. Something that Noah had said had bothered her. It could have been nothing, of course, but it also could have been meant as a hint.

She knew that Noah was one of the most experienced boys their age in the entire town, possibly the state, possibly the world. It was safe to say that he had slept with every girl that he had ever wanted to sleep with in the school (with the exception of Quinn and the possible exception of _Rachel herself_, because although she suffered from severe self-esteem issues, she could at least admit that his advancements towards her were definitely rooted in what seemed to be lust). Therefore, when he told her that 'practice makes perfect', her brain had gone into overdrive trying to think of what he possibly could have meant by that.

Of course, he could have simply meant that he wanted to practice with her often (based on her body's favorable reaction to their brief moments together in the living room, she'd have to say that she was in accord with him on _that_), but he also could have been alluding to her woeful inexperience in the kissing area. He _was _known for picking up on peoples' insecurities and using well-placed and concise barbs of verbal assault to break down an individual's self-esteem. Rachel had often suspected that he was at least slightly smarter than he pretended to be, and she had a feeling that she was correct in that suspicion. He was observant, at the very least. The fact that he knew that grape was her favorite flavor because of the way she licked her lips after he threw a grape slushy on her face was testament enough to that. The last time they had dated, he had used that information to sway her into a sense of security before asking her out. It wasn't a genius move or even a particularly brilliant one, but it was well thought out and it _worked_. Could the kissing comment be the same? Could it be designed to sway her into a frenzy of insecurity so that she would work on her kissing technique in her spare time?

Well, if that was the case then she would certainly not be giving him the satisfaction of knowing that he had bothered her. Although she was constantly on the look-out for ways in which to better herself, she did not desire to feel the need to better herself because of a _boy_. She had tried that once with Finn, and he had proved to her that Mr. Schue's words had been true: there _would _be a boy who liked her just as she was. Ideally one whose perfect girlfriend wasn't pregnant with what was undoubtedly a genetically superior human being.

She faltered at her computer. She'd had every intention of running straight to her room and Googling proper kissing techniques with a few extra tricks thrown in, but her thoughts of Finn made her stop and consider. Wasn't she doing this social experiment with Noah in order to _prepare_ herself for a relationship with Finn or, failing that, with some other talented young performer who she had yet to meet? Wasn't the purpose of engaging in a casual relationship to learn how to do the things that a girl should know how to do in the modern world? Admittedly, Noah was a lovely young man when he wanted to be and she did feel a desire to impress him in some sense, but he was her stepping stone, just as she was his. They were brief entertainment for one another on the way to their true goals. That was all.

She sat down on her bed and stared morosely at her computer screen. No, she should not adjust herself to fit whatever Noah might think that she should be. If he had a problem with her kissing technique, he could bring it up directly. Odds were that she was making a big deal out of nothing, anyway. She tended to do that often, according to the people in her life who she sometimes felt comfortable enough to call friends. Kurt especially seemed determine to remind her on a near-daily basis that she was far too dramatic and no boy would ever like her if she didn't stop, including but not limited to Finn Hudson.

She rose to her feet slowly. Her romantic problems could wait until the following day. She had a revenge to plan, and she would not let her dramatic nature hinder that in any way. Karofsky deserved to be punished for what he had done, and she was going to take it upon herself to make sure that he did.

* * *

When they finally got back home and his mom put his sister to bed, Puck sat at the kitchen table ready to be yelled at. As far as he could tell, his mother hadn't had anything to drink. Which was usually worse because at least when she was drinking he could pretend to himself that it was the alcohol talking and not just the fact that he was a shitty son.

She came back into the room and sat down across from him, giving him that Scary Mom look that he always pretended was stupid but actually made him feel really bad about himself.

"Noah, I want you to tell me everything."

He didn't look her in the eye, because that was when he'd start feeling guilty and shit.

Instead, he looked at his hands and said, "What do you mean?"

"Noah, I saw your truck. I saw what was written there. Why did that happen? Is there something you want to tell me?"

Puck looked up, totally by accident, and caught the look in her eye. Which made him feel guilty, just like he knew it would.

"What, are you asking if I'm _gay_?" he asked.

"Well, I don't know! Why else would they write that word on your truck?"

"Because it's like the most common insult of all time," Puck muttered, looking back down.

"Oh, really, Noah! Do kids really use that word to insult each other? What kinds of kids are you hanging out with?"

"That's the problem, mom. I'm _not _hanging out with those kids. Not anymore. And I mean, like, _any _of the sports kids, so they're the ones who get all pissed at me."

"I don't understand. Why aren't you hanging out with them anymore? You're still playing football, aren't you?"

"Yeah, but…I don't know, look, it's just a lot to explain."

"So tell me all of it. I have time."

"I have to do homework."

"Nice try. Spill."

Puck sighed. There was no way he was getting out of it. He was going to have to tell his mother everything. She _knew _when he was full of shit. The good thing was that she wasn't around all that much because she worked a lot, but when she _was _around, she knew right away when he was making stuff up or hiding stuff from her. He was like, thanking _the universe_ that she hadn't found out about his kid yet.

"All right, look, I started dating this chick because of what you said about me not liking Jewish girls…"

"Oh, Noah!"

She was disappointed in that explanation, okay. She sort of should have been, it was a pretty dick thing for him to do. But he knew how just how to placate her.

Fuck. _Placate._

"No, listen. I mean, I only asked her out because of what you said, because she's really annoying and loud and she's super talented at singing and stuff, so she's really full of herself and it's just…she's just annoying. I used to be really mean to her because…I don't know, because the Cheerios had it in for her and that meant that the football players did too. But then I joined glee and I sort of got to know her a little better, and I sort of got used to her being annoying all the time…"

"You joined _what_?"

"Glee, mom. It's a club. With singing and stuff."

"How come I've never heard any of this?"

"I don't know! Do you want to hear about the truck or not?"

"Fine, fine."

"Okay, so I eventually asked her out and I kind of liked her, I guess, even though I really liked this other super Christian girl who hates me and who I never have a shot with anyway because she's, uh, she's pregnant with Finn's kid. So, I don't know, so I guess Rachel was like, the next best thing. And Rachel's in love with Finn anyway, so I'm _her _next best thing. I don't know if it makes sense, but…I don't know, it works for us. So, anyway, Coach Tanaka was a total douchebag…"

"Noah!"

"…and he gave us this, uh, that word where you have to choose one thing or the other."

"Ultimatum."

"Yeah, ultimatum. He gave us one of those and said either we had to choose football or glee, we couldn't choose both. So I chose glee, because I like glee, and I guess because of Rachel, too, because I really did like her a little, and she was nice to me and helped me clean off the slushy that I got dumped on my by some tool Karofsky."

"David Karofsky? Peggy's son?"

"Yeah, exactly. That whole family is full of assholes."

"Well, I won't argue."

"Anyway, so I chose glee, but then Rachel dumped me even though Finn chose football, because she was still in love with him or whatever. And she wanted to be friends, but I said no, because I was pissed, but then today I felt bad and bought her a slushy because, I don't know, because it's sort of like a peace thing I guess. Like a truce. And I said we could be friends, and she was cool with that, but then like the entire hockey team threw slushies in her face and she didn't even get to _drink _mine."

"Oh, that's horrible! Why would anyone do that?"

Puck felt sick as he swallowed the guilt that was brewing in his stomach, but he didn't tell her the truth. How could he? How could he tell her just how awesome Rachel was for forgiving him? How could he tell her that he'd only thrown that first slushy in her face because she was in his math class and he hated the way she said the answer like she was smarter than everyone else (even though she was)? How could he possibly tell her that her son, the screw up, was just as big a failure as she assumed he was?

No way.

"Yeah, I don't know. It was really awful. So, anyway, me and Rachel got back together and I sort of punched Karofsky in the face after school for doing that to her, so they spray painted my car and slashed my tires to get back at me."

"I don't understand. They did this because you stuck up for your girlfriend? Noah, I'm so proud of you!"

"Yeah, but…I punched the kid in the face."

"And I'd rather you didn't, but this is the first time I've ever heard of you doing something so sweet. I hear things, you know, about what you do during those pool cleaning outings."

"Yeah, mom, I know. You bring it up every day."

"It's just…it's so nice to hear that you've found a girl your own age who you're willing to stand up for."

"Well, too bad Karofsky and his tool friends can't feel the same way."

"Their insult didn't make sense, anyway. You shouldn't feel bad about what they think of you."

He wanted to ask her if he should feel bad about what _she _thought of him, but he didn't. He didn't want to fight.

"Uh, it kind of did. They weren't insulting me, they were insulting Rachel. Rachel doesn't have a car so, you know, they couldn't spraypaint hers. She has two dads."

"Really?"

Puck thought that her grin was going to explode off her face and decorate the wallpaper with happiness or something.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Nothing, it's just, I never expected you to turn out to be so _tolerant_."

"Yeah, well, I've never met them or anything, but Rachel's pretty cool, so it sort of pissed me off, too, but not as bad as it made _her _mad. She was going on about revenge earlier before you came and picked me up. I'm not really sure what she was saying because she's basically a dictionary with legs, but it's probably going to be pretty intense."

"I don't want you getting into trouble over this, Noah," his mother said warningly. And even though it was super cheesy and gay (or, stupid, or whatever. And he was only trying to remember not to use gay as an insult because he didn't want to get a lecture or anything, not because he was starting to realize that it really didn't make any sense at all) he knew exactly what he should reply to that.

And, dammit, he was actually going to say it.

"Yeah, well, I've been in trouble for stupid stuff all my life, mom. This isn't stupid. This is a good thing. They shouldn't do shit like that to her or her dads. So even if I get in trouble, it'll be worth it."

His mother prompted him with, "She's worth it?" Just like he figured she would.

He sighed and shrugged, but his mom totally seemed to know that he was full of shit because _yes_, Rachel was worth it. Her crazy was worth it, her legs were worth it, her lips and her hair and that way she laughed at her own stupid jokes was worth it. And most worth it of all was the way she made him feel, when he was completely honest with himself and he wasn't afraid to admit that he felt anything at all.

Plus, she was hot. There was that, too, and maybe it was better to stick with that if he didn't want his testosterone to flee his body weeping like a little bitch.


	8. A Dish Best Served Bloody

Sorry once again about the lateness of this! Winter break is over for me, so I'll probably have the chance to update this more regularly. Possibly.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed!

A few things: I normally hate explaining myself in disclaimers, but I don't want people to get the wrong impression. While I think that some people might be offended by my use of the word 'faggot' in the story, keep in mind that it's a teenage boy who is an idiot who is using the word. It's awful, but I didn't want to dim down the language for propriety's sake considering that a lot of teenagers unfortunately use the word in the way that Karofsky is using it. Also, I am completely aware of Puck's hypocrisy regarding comments about homosexuality in this chapter. That was intentional, not just me being stupid.

* * *

8. A Dish Best Served Bloody

When Rachel arrived at school the following day, she was prepared. No, she was more than prepared. She had spent half the night dreaming up various scenarios in which her plan would go awry, and she was confident that she had contingencies for nearly all of them. Kurt met her in the parking lot and allowed her to stash her camera and tripod in the back of his Hummer, facing out the back window so that it could catch whatever action was going on outside. Noah's parking spot was directly in front of Kurt's, so if anyone were to approach Noah's truck and vandalize it once again, the camera would catch it on film. She had enough battery life for six hours – more than enough time for the vandals to strike. Rachel had learned the trick from an episode of _Veronica Mars_, in which Veronica had cleared her besmeared name by placing a camera in a display case in the school (going so far as to set up a fake display of photography equipment so that the camera would blend in, which Rachel had admired immensely. Nothing foiled a plan like being ill prepared, after all) and recording the _true _culprit in action. Veronica, of course, had been attempting to catch a boy who was supplying fake to the student body, but the concept was unimportant. It was the method that was ingenious, and it was the method she was going to borrow. Rachel was confident that it would work, if only she managed to channel her inner heroine.

"I still don't understand why you're doing this," Kurt sighed when she was finally finished. He had mentioned his confusion three times already, and it was becoming tiresome. She was well aware of his disapproval of her methods and his desire that she should just 'let it lie'. "Rachel, I know it's difficult to accept, but…"

"So don't accept it," Rachel hissed.

Kurt looked taken aback, which Rachel was not entirely surprised by. She prided herself on her ability to control her emotions, but after the preceding night, something within her had snapped. Throw slushies on her, draw pictures of her in the girl's bathroom, even fill her locker with Jell-o. But her fathers were off limits. No matter how unintentionally they had done it, those boys had opened the floodgates of her wrath and they didn't appear to be close to closing in the slightest.

"Rachel…"

"No, Kurt. Listen. I understand that you are uncomfortable with your sexuality and what it means to be gay in this town. I _truly_ understand. You're an adolescent, and no matter how maturely developed you think you are, there is no way getting around the indecisiveness that comes naturally with this time in our lives. But my fathers, they are _not _uncomfortable. They know exactly who they are and who they want to be. They always have. So for the writhing underbelly of the athletic social wedge in McKinley High's pie chart of social cliques to involve them in something like this, to attempt to bring homosexuality into this where it should never have been brought, and especially to act as if it's something to _insult_ me with rather than something to celebrate, it's unacceptable. I don't care if we live in Lima and I don't care that our homosexual population is staggeringly low. It's a simple matter of right and wrong, and what they did was _wrong_. I'm not going to placate the masses by turning the other cheek because I am not that person. Maybe things would be easier for me if I was, but I have never been and will never be. I stand up for what I think is right, Kurt Hummel, and I know you don't always agree with me. But this isn't an attempt to further my career or impress some boy. This is bigger than that. They need to be taught a lesson, and I'm going to see to it that they are."

She slammed the door to Kurt's truck and flounced off across the parking lot, leaving the boy standing awkwardly behind her.

* * *

"You want me to do _what_?"

Puck generally tried not to think of Rachel in terms of her total _weirdness_, because that could hurt his brain. But this time was different, because she was standing in front of him and asking him to beat the shit out of Karofsky, _not _as revenge for what they did to his truck (which would have been a totally _hot _request. Violence and cars and hot girls? It was only the American dream), but so they would do something to his truck _again_.

"I want you to…"

"No, Rach, that wasn't a question. That was an expression of…"

Shit. He had been about to say _incredulity_. And he only knew that word at all because Rachel had already said it a total of seven times in their current conversation (which had only lasted for, fuck, like three minutes).

"An expression of your incredulity?" Rachel prompted, the corners of her mouth tugging into a smile like she _knew_, or something.

"Yeah, whatever. Look, my mom's super pissed about the truck thing and even though she thinks it's cool that it got murdered because I stood up for you or, whatever, she's still not exactly shooting fucking rainbows at the idea of having to pay for the damage."

"If my plan works, which I assume it will, then you won't have to worry about paying for anything."

She looked at him like she was ready to start begging, and he _really _couldn't take that in the middle of the school hallway.

"Fine, whatever. Like I need an excuse to punch that smug asshole, anyway. I'll do it."

She grinned at him, and Puck legit couldn't think of anything to describe it other than _infectious_, which was totally gay. Lame. Whatever. It was bad enough that he _knew _the word, but he really didn't have to start _using _it in like every day thought or whatever.

"Thank you, Noah," she said primly. "You won't be sorry. I have a plan."

And really, it was sort of hot when she said stuff like that, because she was so crazy that she probably legitimately had a plan to, like, take over the world or something, and he was just glad to be on her side and not the other one.

"Tell me something," he said finally, leaning against the locker beside him and putting on his best charming smile.

"All right," she replied, and the way she leaned against the locker in front of him made her skirt rise up like a half an inch, which normally wouldn't be a lot but since the skirt was already fucking _miniscule_, it made a hell of a difference. And she was still smiling at him like she _knew_.

He was starting to get the impression that Rachel knew a lot more than she'd probably be willing to admit, and that was scary and awesome at the same time. If she wanted to use her hotness to talk him into things, he was pretty much one hundred and ten percent okay with that. And it maybe made him just a tiny bit whipped, but he was whipped already before they started re-dating, and he guessed he had no choice but to accept that he was continuing in the same tradition.

"So, you're obviously really scary about standing up for yourself. Why didn't you ever try to get back at me? Put Nair in my shampoo, razor blades in my apples, shit like that?"

Rachel winced.

"Noah, that's disgusting. Where do you come up with this stuff? And, to answer your question, I never tried to get back at you because you never stooped so low as to actually threaten me." He started to tell her that _of course_ they weren't threatening her, but she just kept talking. He had a feeling that it was going to happen a lot if they were going to continue to be in a relationship together, no matter how casual he tried to keep it. "I know you told me that they did not intend to threaten me, but I believe you are underestimating their stupidity."

"Can't really deny that."

"And, to further answer your question, I didn't try to fight back at you because I did not have anyone on my side. I think it's safe to assume that the entire school would rather see me suffer than help me. At least, until you decided that you could be strong enough to stand up to our less evolved classmates."

Puck sort of laughed at that, and he really didn't mean to sound so sexy when he said, "Baby, I'm _definitely _highly evolved." He really didn't mean to. He just couldn't help it. It was natural.

Rachel sighed, exasperated but still smiling, which meant that she thought he was hot. Which was awesome even though he already sort of figured that, since it was basically just a fact.

"Essentially," she sighed, pushing herself off of the locker and shrugging gamely at him. "Essentially I'm saying that I truly could not be doing this without you."

She left him to digest that info, and then she turned and walked away without so much as a kiss on the cheek or even a high five or something. And it wasn't like he _wanted_ one or anything, but they _were _dating, even if it was casual. So, yeah, that was sort of lame.

* * *

Rachel walked into Miss Pillsbury's office, knowing that Mr. Schuester would be inside. He always was at that particular time of morning. During her brief obsession with everything he did or touched, she had come to memorize his schedule. It was embarrassing, yet helpful.

"Mr. Schuester," she said from the doorway, looking at him pointedly. He rose to his feet and smiled at her.

"Rachel, come in. Miss P. and I were just talking about you."

Rachel knew from experience that it was more than likely that they had been discussing her lack of social skills or the strangeness of her wardrobe or her selfishness, but she pretended to believe that they were discussing her talent or her surprisingly strong willingness to help others (it was often overlooked by the fact that she was forceful in her opinions about her talent, which Rachel thought was criminally unfair considering her generosity applied in all other areas except the one). She was hesitant to step into the room as a result of the feeling of insecurity, and she hovered in the doorway for another moment.

"I wanted to speak to you about the incident that transpired yesterday with Noah's car."

"Yeah, that's what we were talking about," Mr. Schuester said. "Please, sit."

Rachel sat reluctantly, dreading the conversation that was to come. Miss Pillsbury was a lovely woman and _so _kind, but she also could be a bit overbearing when it came to her job. Mr. Schuester looked at the pretty guidance counselor, who nodded and began.

"Now, Will tells me that you were the victim of a hate crime yesterday."

Rachel had given the possibilities for her presenting this incident very careful consideration the night before as she had lain sleepless for several hours in her bed (between planning retribution and recalling the way Noah's hands had felt on her skin, she was truly at the mercy of her own mind). She knew that what had occurred was serious. Although they had undoubtedly simply meant the words as a threat to her and as something hurtful to throw her way, they also seemed to be under the opinion that homosexuality was something that could be used as an insult. Rachel did _not _approve.

"Yes. Somewhat. Not precisely. Look, Mr. Schuester, I appreciate that you appear to be taking this very seriously, unfortunately there is not much we can do. I think it is fair to assume that the video cameras that Principal Figgins set up in the parking lot are merely scare tactics devised to keep people from acting out. There are no wires. And the one in the back lot was pecked apart by a bird who used the Styrofoam for its nest."

"Rachel, this is serious. If you feel threatened by these boys or if you feel that they've targeted you specifically because you are the child of a homosexual couple…"

"Mr. Schuester, you are admittedly kind and although your idea of fairness when it comes to glee is questionable at best, you have a very strong set of morals that you stick to no matter what. I think that's really lovely. However, in this case I think it would be remiss for me to pursue any sort of legal action. It's well known that I am not well-liked by anyone in the school. I have no friends to speak of who would not abandon me at a moment's notice. I have no admirers other than Jacob Ben Israel, whose admiration seems to be directed at my physicality, which would be flattering were it anyone else. These boys targeted me because it's the popular thing to do."

"Rachel, you have friends. What about glee club?"

Rachel looked at Mr. Schuester pointedly.

"You know better than I do that they only tolerate me for my talent. And even then, they probably would not be devastated if I left glee."

"Rachel…"

"No, it's true. You don't have to pretend. I'm aware that their fondness for me is fickle, and I'm sure that it is entirely my fault due to the fact that I seem unable to change my personality to fit into an accepted social box."

Mr. Schuester was looking at her as if she were some tragic figure, and Miss Pillsbury looked shocked that Rachel had some degree of self-awareness. Rachel knew the look well. She had seen it often.

"What about Puck?" Miss Pillsbury asked finally. "You two are dating, right?"

"Yes, well, perhaps. But he is a teenage boy with a libido that is advanced even for his demographic. I work out and I wear short skirts. I think the answer to this equation is perfectly clear." She stood to her feet as she realized that she was depressing herself with the truth. "I appreciate the concern you have both shown me. However, I would prefer it if I were allowed to deal with this on my own."

Mr. Schuester glanced at Miss Pillsbury for support, but she didn't seem to have any idea what to say. Finally, he nodded.

"I'll give you a chance to deal with this in your own way," he said reluctantly. "But I want you to know that we take this very seriously. They shouldn't be allowed to get away with this."

"None of the people who have tormented me over the course of my two years at McKinley should be allowed to get away with what they do to me every day, but no one has taken an interest before. To you, this may be a hate crime, Mr. Schuester, but to me this is just another way in which my fellow students strive to find creative ways of insulting me or otherwise trodding on what remnants of self-confidence I have managed to cling to."

With what she hoped was an airy shrug and a determined smile, Rachel excused herself from the room at last. She was confident that Mr. Schuester and Miss Pillsbury would keep the incident with the truck to themselves. Rachel was glad. Although she undeniably felt a desire to make the heathens pay for the damages both to Noah's truck and her own wounded ego, she did not desire the attention that an accusation would incur. She tried her hardest to fly under the McKinley radar, with admittedly limited success. She wanted to continue to do so. Albeit in a far more _vengeful_ way than before. With luck, the boys would learn their lesson without her fathers ever learning that there was something for them to learn.

* * *

Puck walked across the football field with his confusion getting worse with every step.

Seriously, really, _why _was he doing what Rachel wanted him to do? Was it the idea that maybe she would be so grateful she'd actually hand over her V-card? He didn't think it was exactly _unlikely_, but it was definitely not the kind of thing he should have been banking on. She hadn't even _hinted _that it might be a possibility, and he was jumping the gun and going totally out of his way for her because he had the idea that _maybe_, it _might_ happen.

It was _disgusting _how whipped he was.

"Hey, Karofsky," he shouted across the football field, although inside his mind he was asking himself if he was _trying_ to be completely stupid. Karofsky was sitting on the bleachers with a few of his asshole buddies, passing around a joint before class.

"Hey, Puckerman!" Karofsky said, casually getting to his feet. "Saw what happened to your truck. That's too bad, man. Guess that's what you get for dating freak shows."

"I wouldn't talk about your mother that way, Karofsky. She's a nice lady with a _gorgeous _rack."

"Shut the fuck up about my mom," Karofsky growled. "I get it, you're a stud on the scent of aged fish. Hasn't this shtick gotten old, yet? Back when you actually mattered, no one said shit to you because you had the strength in numbers thing going for you. Now? Now, I don't feel even the slightest bit worried about saying that there is something seriously _unwell _about you."

Puck had been expecting the comments about his recent decline in popularity (_Stop thinking like Rachel, you idiot. That's what got you into this shit in the first place_), but he was surprised by how hard the words hit him. It wasn't like his _feelings _were hurt or anything, but he _was _feeling pretty shitty about how true it was. A few months earlier, he would have been able to shut Karofsky up with a wave of his little finger. But times had changed, and suddenly 'little finger' had become 'both fists and a foot up his ass' which was undeniably more fun, but still sort of insulting to his badassery. It was way cooler when he didn't have to give that much effort. Easier, too. More time for _Call of Duty _and _Left 4 Dead_.

"I bet you just _dazzle _the ladies with your wit, right? God, how _is _it that you're still a virgin? I mean, despite your face, you'd think you could find someone half-blind or something."

"What, you think a lot about me going at it? I knew that glee club would turn you all into faggots."

Puck felt his throat close up with the difficulty of restraining himself. He wanted to make the kid bleed. The word 'faggot' had never really meant anything to him before. He'd even said it a few times, even though it wasn't his favorite insult. But thinking about the way Rachel had been so quiet and angry and smoldering with that hot vengeful fire, it made him realize that it was stupid. It was not an insult, it was just a statement of fact, really. But the way they said it made it seem like gay guys were the new swine flu. Like they were some contagious disease that could spread to people.

It was stupid. Rachel was an awesome chick even though she was also kind of annoying (but there were plenty of other intense and annoying chicks who _hadn't_ been raised by gay guys, so that clearly wasn't their doing), so as far as he was concerned, being gay was all right.

He felt like an ass for ever feeling like it wasn't. Who was he to judge, seriously? Plenty of dudes judged him for liking older ladies even though it wasn't, like, their business or anything. People should just fuck off about stuff like that.

"You know what, fuck off," he said decisively. "I don't even know why I'm here. You're so fucking pathetic. Look at you. You play _hockey_. And that's, I don't know, _enough_, but then you just add your idiot personality on top of it and, seriously, why do you even _exist_? How the hell were _you _your dad's fastest little swimmer? Is your dad retarded or something?"

"What is _with _your fixation on my family? You sleep with my dad, too?"

"Nah, what would be the point? I feel like I've done it already. Your mom tells the best stories about how hard he tries in bed. Can't seem to get it up. Actually, you know what? You might want to cool it with the homophobia stuff. Your dad seems like a _nice _guy."

* * *

After first period, Rachel moved as slowly as possible at her locker as she waited for Noah to arrive in the hallway. She wasn't exactly sure about the status of their relationship, because while she was aware of its casual nature and the way that they were destined for bigger and better things, there was still the question of whether or not it would be the kind of casual relationship that was allowed to be viewed by the public.

But when Noah appeared in the hallway with blood tricking from a cut on his cheek and his white t-shirt beneath his jacket stained with grass, he headed straight to her. His split-lipped smile was simultaneously unnerving and heartening, and she couldn't help but smile a bit as well. He stopped in front of her locker, folding his arms across his chest.

"Baby, my work is done. And it was pretty awesome."

"They hit you," Rachel pointed out with a smile that she couldn't quite contain in time.

"Yeah, well, I probably deserved it. And whatever, it makes me look like a total badass."

"You should still probably see the nurse."

"No way! She'd make me change my shirt, and there is _blood _on my shirt."

Rachel peered closer, and sure enough there was a large spot of blood in the near-exact middle of one of the grass stains. She rolled her eyes and said, "And why exactly would changing your shirt be a bad thing?"

"Because if I change my shirt, no one will know _who _made Karofsky's face look like a pile of raw hamburger."

Rachel, not normally squeamish in any way, felt her stomach churn at the description and the accompanying mental image.

"Disgusting, Noah. And hopefully not accurate."

"I don't know, maybe not once he washes the blood off."

"I'm beginning to see why asking you to provoke his wrath was possibly an unintelligent idea. At least tell me that he wasn't seriously injured."

"Not enough to get my ass thrown in jail, no. And Karofsky's not going to tell anyone I hit him, either. That's like the only good thing about my plummeting reputation in this school: no one's going to want to admit they got beat up by the gleek."

"Well, hopefully you're right. And if everything goes according to plan, they'll soon have to admit to having been beating up _on_ the gleek, namely you. Also me, I suppose, but I like to think that my involvement in this is largely due to you. After all, I've been teased in more offensive and less creative ways than this, before, and I've never gone to such lengths. Time will tell if it's a good thing or not."

She felt the desire to kiss him on the cheek, and considering the fact that no one around them seemed to even _register_ the fact that they were speaking, she felt that it would be appropriate and not socially unacceptable to do so. She stood on the tips of her toes and lightly allowed her lips to graze the side of his face, where he had evidently not shaved that morning because the coarse short hairs there tickled her skin. When she pulled back, slightly and breathlessly afraid that he was going to react in an unfavorable manner, he simply grinned at her.

She felt all of the tension and unease about the public awareness of their relationship expelled from her body in one forceful breath. He was not unhappy about being seen with her. That was fortunate, because it was something she had experienced a fair amount of anxiety about.

"Hey, so," Noah started awkwardly, leaning back against the locker again once the close quarters became a bit too uncomfortable to stomach any longer. "You still want to come over today? Mom's pretty psyched that you, like, _exist_, and I'm pretty sure she's already your number one fan. She found your Myspace and shit, and spent the whole night trying to show me highlights from your videos."

"It's always good to expand one's fanbase," Rachel said sagely, hoping that he knew she was joking (at least partially).

"Yeah, well, you're about to expand by one. Probably two, because my sister talks almost as much as you do, and she's the most overdramatic little shit _ever_. You two should get along great."

He said it all with a teasing tone, and Rachel chose to believe that he was not being derogatory in any way (although her mind reeled a bit at the idea that perhaps he was indeed employing the tactic of bringing up negative qualities about herself in the hopes that she would believe that it was _her _idea to implement a personality change when in reality it was his intention all along, but she chose to dismiss that notion as rampant paranoia caused by years of social ostracism).

"Fantastic," she said, upbeat to the point of mania, just as it should be. "I'll talk to you later."

She hurried off to her next class, passing Quinn on her way and flashing the other girl a bright smile. Her day was going _that _well. She was hopeful of an eventual friendship with Quinn (how lovely would it be, truly, if they were able to forge a friendship despite all their differences in the past?) and on this day it seemed an especially wonderful day to attempt to initiate some sort of change between them. She didn't stop to see what sort of reaction Quinn would have. Taking things slow was the best way to approach the situation.

She just kept walking, head held up high, and told herself that her world was really starting to look up.

* * *

Puck knew as soon as he saw Quinn approaching down the hall that he was in for some serious hell fire, but he had no idea that it would end up being as fucking weird as it did.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Quinn hissed, her eyes blazing with something really freaking scary as she tried (and sort of succeeded, a little, but he'd never admit it) to look intimidating.

"Um, talking to Rachel before class. What's the big deal?"

"Your little jealousy experiment failed the first time, Puck, so why are you trying again? _Nothing _is going to change my mind. I'm going to be with Finn. I _love _Finn."

"What, you think this is about _you_?"

"What else would it be about? You said it yourself, you're a teenage boy. You want me to notice you? Fine, consider this _noticing _you. But if you want me to notice you _without_ the bad feelings attached, then you need to stop leading on an innocent girl. Berry's crazy and annoying as hell, but that doesn't give you a right to mess with her like this."

"Oh, so _Finn_, you can fuck with, but Rachel's off limits? You took me _babysitting_. Don't think I don't know that was a eupha…code word for 'daddy try outs'. Get off your stupid high horse. Out of the two of us, you're the only one who's a bitch enough to actively sabotage the life of someone you're supposed to care about."

Quinn took a step back, like she was afraid he was going to slap her or something, which in truth only made him angrier.

"You talk a really big game, Puck, but we're in this together. The only reason you haven't told Finn yet is because without me and Finn, you have nobody. Not even Rachel would be by your side if the truth came out. She'd be on Finn's arm so fast, he'd get whiplash."

And, okay, it wasn't that the words _hurt_…but they sort of did. A little.

"If you're so sure of that, why are you even still dating him? He's fucking…I don't know, _undressing her with his eyes _or some shit, and you don't even seem to care. That's not a healthy relationship."

Quinn laughed hollowly.

"When you love someone, I mean _really _love someone, which you obviously know nothing about, you don't care if it's a scrap. You'll take whatever you can get. Even if you know you don't deserve it."

She looked pointedly at him and hugged her books tighter to her chest before walking away. Puck watched her go and, well fuck. Why the hell did he feel so _guilty_?

* * *

Rachel peered out the window at the students gathered around Noah's truck, and she grinned with anticipation. Obviously, Karofsky and his friends had struck again. While she was not looking forward to what they had written, especially if it was about _her _this time and not her dear fathers (because that could be ignored and written off as ignorance when it came to assessing the blow to her confidence, but direct insults were always harder to mentally scribble out), she was certainly flush with anticipation at the thought of catching the perpetrators and bringing them to a swift and timely justice.

"This is so messed up," Noah said for what may have literally been the thousandth time.

"On the contrary. This is exactly what I wanted to happen. The camera in Kurt's car will provide us with ample proof that Karofsky and his friends are the ones behind the incident, and once I persuade Principal Figgins to watch the tape, I'm sure I can convince him to force the boys to pay the appropriate damages."

"I _get _the plan. It's the _plan_ that's messed up."

Rachel rolled her eyes at Noah as she turned her back.

"Well, if you want your mother to pay for your truck…"

"I didn't say that. It's just…you're sort of scary, you know that? You're like this evil mastermind bent on world domination, when you try to be. Which is scary. Especially since, you know, you probably can do it."

"What a nice thing to say," Rachel mused, eyes fixated on the slowly-dispersing crowd around Noah's truck. "All right, the vultures are beginning to scatter. Kurt allowed me to borrow his key for these purposes. I'll be back in a second with the camera."

"No way are you going out there alone. If Karofsky has any idea what you did…"

"Would you be embarrassed if I said that I find your protectiveness endearing?"

Puck grinned and said, "Only a little, but I think I can live with it."

* * *

Puck hated to admit it, but Rachel was a genius, sometimes. When she put her mind to shit that was actually _useful_, it was pretty awesome. Like the fact that his mother would maybe reconsider suspending his Xbox LIVE account for a month like she'd threatened? That was _awesome_. The other stuff that she put her mind to could be pretty stupid, but this wasn't. And he actually felt sort of _loved_. Not like, in a lame way. But in a cool way.

Shit, that wasn't really possible, was it?

He decided he could ignore that sad fact as soon as she burst into fake tears at the best possible moment – just as Principal Figgins asked her (with _serious_ attitude, by the way, which Puck was _not _okay with) if there was any point to her visit. Puck had to pity the man a tiny bit, recognizing the frantically confused look on his face. It was the same face he'd been making a lot more often in the half day since he'd accidentally asked Rachel out (not that he regretted it, exactly, but it was still sort of overwhelming.

Rachel broke off crying suddenly and stamped her foot on the ground with all the drama she could muster (which was totally a lot).

"I demand justice," she said firmly.

"Yeah, and money," Puck agreed.

"What? If this is a blackmailing scheme, I promise you it won't work."

"Shit, is this blackmail?"

"No, Noah. This is justice. Plain and simple. I demand you view this tape and take appropriate action against the juvenile delinquents in question."

She thrust the camera out into the open (she had been holding it behind her back for "maximum dramatic potential, Noah", which were obviously her words and not his since he still wasn't exactly sure what she meant by that). Figgins looked at it like it was going to bite off his head or something.

"If this is some scam to force me to inadvertently watch child pornography so that you can blackmail me…"

"Dude, what the hell is up with you and blackmailing?" Puck growled. "Just watch the fucking tape."

Figgins sighed and gave him an angry look about the language, but he took the tape, so Puck figured it was a win. As he watched the footage that Rachel had set up, he looked more and more angry, until finally he snapped the LCD screen closed and looked up at them.

"I apologize for assuming the worst, Miss Berry. And I can assure you, I will take care of this."

"Um, just so you know, they did this yesterday, too," Puck pointed out. "My mom had to pay for new tires at her friend's mechanic place, and even though he's her friend it was still super expensive and shit, since she needed it overnight and whatever. So if you're going to make them pay, can it be literally?"

"If not, I'm sure you are well aware that I have two gay dads who will be _very _displeased to hear that…"

"I'm well versed in your legal threats, Miss Berry. The two of you, please wait elsewhere while I round up these idiots and call their parents."

Rachel beamed at Principal Figgins with all the wattage (shit, wattage? _Really_?) of a true star, then grabbed Puck's hand and dragged him out of the room to sit at the bench just outside Figgins' door. Figgins followed them, locked it, and headed towards the football field where the hockey team usually went for their runs after school, warning them that they had better be gone once he returned (Puck tried to tell him that he wasn't afraid of Karofsky, but both Figgins and Rachel had explained with really big words why they weren't allowed to know that it was Rachel who set up the tape. Not that he understood or anything, but he figured it sounded smart enough).

"This is going remarkably well," Rachel said with excitement once Figgins had disappeared down the hallway.

"Yeah, you're like really good at talking people into things, aren't you?"

"I pride myself on my persuasive abilities, yes. Every star should be prepared to face her ups and downs, and every star should _certainly _be prepared to talk her way out of a few mishaps. Granted, most stars use this skill for evading speeding tickets or something of that nature, but I suppose this is a sort of dress rehearsal."

"I really don't care about any of that stuff you're saying. I think you should probably just appreciate the fact that _right now_, in Lima Ohio, not New York or whatever, you're doing a super awesome thing to help my mom out."

Rachel stared at him with an unreadable expression, a slow smile spreading over her face.

"Wow," she said finally, leaning back in her chair. "You know, I never would have taken you for someone who cares about his family, but it's obvious from the way you just said that, that you care deeply for your mother."

"She's my mom," Puck grumbled, not liking the turn of this conversation.

"Yes, of course, but in general, the adolescent mind rejects authority, especially the total authority of the parent. Adolescents are yearning to break free and go forth and establish an identity separate from that of their parents, and that often includes ignoring the merits of what their parents are trying to teach them, or ignoring the perfectly logical reasoning behind, say, a refusal to allow a son or daughter to attend a concert on a school night."

"Yeah, well, people are stupid."

"I didn't necessarily say…well, all right. I concede that I've never really understood the need, myself. I love my fathers and everything about them. It's refreshing to see someone who avoids that particular social and psychological construct as well."

"You're losing me again."

Rachel chuckled instead of getting mad like he sort of thought she would, and then she leaned across the seat and kissed him. Full on, on the lips. It was hot, because she was all passionate about it, and he could tell that she was like, _completely _into him.

And no matter _what _Quinn said, he was into her just as hard. He wasn't using her to make Quinn jealous. He was using her to make himself feel better. And maybe that was sort of just as bad (because, really, sometimes he didn't really like her that much, and he'd wonder if maybe he was doing this for the wrong reasons) but at least it wasn't about someone else. Like Rachel said, she had played second string to Quinn for a long ass time. No matter what Rachel did, Quinn would overshadow her. But when it came to him and their casual relationship, at least she could rest assured that Quinn had nothing to do with it.

Sure, he wanted to be a part of his kid's life, and sure he wanted to bone Quinn again (only without the crying this time) because she was hot and he sort of wanted to show her that sex didn't always have to be a 'huge, epic mistake' (her words, not his. Like he would ever call sex or his baby a _mistake_). But did he want to hang out with Quinn, listen to her rant, make out with her for hours, snuggle with her on the couch and...whoa, not snuggle. Make out with her on the couch, cop a _feel _on the couch, have sex on the couch (badassness reestablished). Anyway, did he want to do all of that stuff with Quinn? No. Quinn was Finn's girl, and she would always be Finn's girl. Finn thought the stuck-up Christian thing was cool, but Puck thought that he maybe wanted to be a better person. Maybe Rachel and glee and all the gleeks made him want to be a better person.

And how could he do that with Quinn by his side? When she was trying so hard not to call people names, to react to her natural instinct (or maybe her instinct put there by her dumbass parents) to judge everyone for everything. How could either of them hope to improve when they were both so damn _shitty?_

No. He was a shitty person, and he was a liar, and he was a terrible friend, but at least he had Rachel. Because at the end of the day, Rachel was a better person than he was, by a lot. Even though he made fun of her and thought she was weird and sort of hated how much she felt the need to talk, he knew that she was making him a better person the more time he spent with her. Every time he was with her, he could feel himself improving. Like there was this awesome glowing awesomeness filling him, and it wouldn't ever go away as long as she was nearby.

But he didn't say stupid shit like that, so instead he just pulled back and said, "Babe, you're the shit."


	9. Good Housekeeping, the Badass Way

I'm so sorry that took so long. I've had it sitting on my computer for two weeks now, and I just kept forgetting to post it.

* * *

Chapter 9: Good Housekeeping, The Badass Way

With all the excitement of the morning's espionage-influenced activities which had culminated in the suspension of Karofsky and two less important boys, plus the promise of compensation to Noah's mother for the damages _caused_ by the delinquents in question, Rachel had completely forgotten about her earlier promise to Noah that she would return with him after school in order to meet his mother. It wasn't that she didn't _want _to keep her promise, and it certainly wasn't as if she didn't want to meet his mother, but she still felt a certain amount of anxiety when she began to give the appropriate consideration to the pressures that she would endure as a result of the encounter. After all, being someone who liked to be prepared for any and all contingencies, she normally had much more thorough investigations into the various "dos and don'ts" of any potential scenario.

Firstly, how was one even _expected_ to act when meeting the parent of one's romantic interest for the first time? She had seen the subject explored often in movies and in television, but in almost every case, the subject was male and being introduced to the parents of the female. And, even less similar to Rachel's own experience, the subject was often much older than she, and preparing to enter into either an engagement or a marriage with the woman in question. It seemed that Rachel had no model on which to base her future experience with Puck's mother, and no time to as extensively research the incident as she wished that she could.

_Furthermore_, the idea of meeting Noah's mother when she and Noah were supposed to be in a relationship that was purely casual in basis presented a whole _new _set of complications. Did Noah expect her to get along with his mother because he enjoyed her company, or did he want her to dash his mother's hopes that they would be together forever as a way to let her down easy when the inevitable breaking off of their relationship was to occur?

She didn't know, and she was rapidly becoming anxious about this whole affair. If not for the fact that Noah had dealt with an admittedly high number of stressful incidents for her in the past day, she probably would have found some reason to cancel. But, no, she felt the need to repay the favors that he had bestowed on her, and she wasn't going to back out of that just because of a bit of discomfort. She liked to believe that she had more honor than that.

Unfortunately, due to her anxiousness and her frenzied attempts to prepare even the slightest bit, her performance in Spanish class was abhorrent, and her in-class writing assignment for English was no less abysmal. After handing the pages in to Mrs. Taylor, she sat down and realized that she had no recollection of what she could have possibly written about. She was completely unable to focus on any lesson without her thoughts straying to the inevitable meeting and dinner that would follow.

Oh, God, the dinner. She absolutely _had_ to make certain that she chewed with her mouth closed, because she often forgot and allowed her jaw to flap open for the world to see. It was only slightly embarrassing in the company of her fathers, but in front of Noah's mother it would be an _unforgivable_ faux pas. Something that she would possibly never recover from. And, of course, she absolutely had to make sure not to jiggle her left leg under the table like she was for some reason apt to do in situations that made her nervous (she made a conscious effort to still the limb which was, at that very moment, bouncing noticeably beneath her desk). Also, of course, she had to remember to hold her utensils in the correct way. She always had trouble remembering the proper way in which to hold the knife.

There was just so much to remind herself of! And not nearly enough time to prepare.

* * *

Puck had almost been shocked into either a heart attack or suicide because of the totally random meeting-slash-peptalk with Quinn at his locker earlier, so he was _definitely _not expecting _Finn_ to accost him in the locker room about the same fucking subject. Which had been none of Quinn's business, and it was even _less _Finn's business. A few days ago neither of them had wanted anything to do with him and Rachel, but suddenly it was like they were a free buffet.

He was also sort of pissed because it was pretty much accepted between he and his secret baby mama that he wasn't allowed to talk about Quinn to Finn, and Quinn wasn't allowed to talk about him to Finn (the rhyming names thing seriously had to go. One of them had to change it, or get a nickname, or _something_, because that shit was just annoying). But apparently Quinn had broken their rule, because it was pretty damn obvious that she had gone to Finn to get him to guilt Puck into ditching Rachel or something. Which was admittedly a smart move because Finn was the only dude who could guilt Puck into anything. Plus, Finn probably hadn't even known about him and Rachel the _first_ time. There was no way he would have figured it out the second time unless Quinn had told him (very slowly) all about it.

"Dude," Finn said, and Puck could tell just from that one word that this conversation was going to be seriously stupid. Because really, all of their conversations were seriously stupid, but especially the ones that started with Finn trying to look all tough and angry and morally superior or whatever.

"Dude," Puck repeated, trying to sound more sarcastic. Sometimes if he was lucky, Finn would forget what he was going to say and would pass the whole thing off as a joke, which Puck _really fucking wanted_ at the moment. He did _not _want to talk about Rachel and he did _not _want to talk about Rachel with _Finn_ even _more _than he didn't want to talk about Rachel. If that made sense.

Yeah, that totally made sense.

But apparently luck only extended to guys who _didn't_ knock up their best friend's girls, because Finn kept going. Quinn must have made him memorize the speech or something.

"I heard you're dating Rachel. Which is fine, because I have Quinn and I love Quinn a lot and she's pregnant so I have to love her…wait, no, she's pregnant so I love her _even more_ because there is a person inside her body so I love her for two people. So, you know, it's cool if you want to date Rachel. I guess. But seriously, don't be a douchebag. Because you _are _a douchebag, especially with girls. And Rachel is really cool, and we sort of need her in the club, too, because she's got the best voice in the universe, and she's going to help us win Sectionals."

Puck sighed and looked down at the ground. Somewhere in that pathetically adorable (_not adorable, holy fuck, not adorable. He was not referring to his best friend like he was a fucking bunny rabbit or some shit. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck Rachel. Just fuck her_) rant of nothing was an actual point. And that point was: don't hurt Rachel, because she doesn't deserve it.

Paraphrasing was an essential skill to have when you were friends with Finn Hudson. Or with Rachel Berry, incidentally (only apparently his paraphrasing skills were breaking, because otherwise _incidentally_ wouldn't have happened). And Finn had a point, as much as Puck hated to admit it. His dating record was shitty at best, and usually ended with girls crying, or throwing up, or mailing him vials of their blood, or some other really fucked up shit.

"Dude, I'm not going to hurt Rachel. This isn't a Santana thing, or a Felicia thing, or an Adriana thing, or a Connie thing. And hopefully not a Caroline thing. This is like, we're sort of friends, a little. And we have something else _too_, you know? Something a little different than friendship, but not really."

"That's called dating," Finn said, like _he _was the one who should be frustrated with Puck's stupidity, or something.

"Yeah, but not really. I mean, come on. This is high school. Dating isn't about friendship, it's about getting laid on a semi-regular basis. Or at least, if you're not a stud like me, getting some under-the-shirt action on a basis that's regular enough to keep your balls from falling off. No offense, but your experience with the prayer beads and the pregnancy isn't exactly typical. But Rachel's actually pretty cool, so this isn't just me trying to get laid. This is me hanging out with a cool chick while sometimes kissing her."

"I don't want to think about you and Rachel kissing," Finn sighed dejectedly.

"Yeah? Well I don't want to think about you and _Quinn _kissing. Because, ew. Not because I want her or anything."

The fumble for an explanation probably would have made things worse than they already were if it was anybody but Finn to whom Puck was speaking. But since Finn was Finn, he just nodded and cheerfully accepted whatever explanation was thrown his way.

Which sort of made sense. After all, two words: Hot tub.

* * *

Rachel had spent the fifteen minutes between the end of school and the commencement of glee club creating a list of questions that she needed to present to Noah regarding his mother's possibly sensitive conversational topics so that she could memorize it and carefully pick her way through the conversation as if it were a minefield. She had determined after several hours of consideration during her classes that it was really the only polite way to do it.

"You're shitting me, right?" Noah asked with a sigh when he saw the list (admittedly, she had imagined that the length would be something he would have an issue with, but she couldn't very well leave off anything that was absolutely vital, and a careful review of the questions had revealed that it was _all _vital).

"This is an important endeavor for the both of us, Noah. I think it's safe to assume that your experience with bringing girls home to your mother has been fairly limited. And it may be even _fairer _to assume that if you did indeed bring a girl home, it was probably on a day when you believed that your mother would be out of the house, and it was probably not an encounter that either woman would want to go through again."

Noah sighed and said, "Okay. So?"

"So, I'm simply anxious to give you an impressive encounter so that your mother will feel her confidence in you lifted! If you can manage to date a talented Jewish ingénue like me, Noah, I believe the implication is that you can date anyone! And surely that is at least one of the things that your mother hopes for you during your high school career. Certainly, my fathers have been informing me for months now that if I want to have boys over when they're not home, it's acceptable as long as I don't get pregnant, and if I _do _get pregnant, I'm strongly advised to give the baby up for adoption rather than choosing abortion as an alternative to raising the child. This may be because my inability to find a boy who likes me is severely crippling to my self confidence, and they're willing to relinquish some control in their desperation to boost it."

"That's…really sad."

"I am entirely aware of that," Rachel sighed.

"Well, do you want _me _to come over and meet your dads or something? You know, make them feel better about you and guys, or whatever? Because for the record, you're totally cool enough to have a stud like me date you, and I think they should recognize that about their own daughter."

"That's admirably sweet of you, Noah. Let's see how this dinner goes first, shall we?"

Noah rolled his eyes and groaned, reluctantly returning his gaze to the gold-star-covered list in front of him.

So Puck had basically changed his mind about dinner with his mom the second Rachel came up with that stupid ass list, but he didn't say anything. And he wasn't nervous because he thought Rachel was going to, like, completely blow it and freak the hell out of his mom (kind of like how she freaked the hell out of everyone else), but because she totally wasn't going to. She totally was going to blow his mom away with her chatter and her goals and shit, and then after she had left his mom was definitely going to ask him why he couldn't be motivated and awesome like her.

And, shit. He really didn't want to deal with that. Like, at all.

But what the hell was he supposed to do? So he waited with Rachel outside for her dad to pick them up while she talked and talked and basically _vibrated_ with all this extra energy that her body probably just couldn't hold because it wasn't nearly strong enough to keep it all in, or whatever, and he worried about his near future and the lecture he was sure to get. Especially since he was going to have to explain why his truck had to be towed for the second time in two days.

Although there was always the hope that his mother would be a little too fuzzy on the wine to understand what the fuck Rachel was saying, and the dinner party would go just as horribly as Rachel was assuming it would, and then his mom would be too fucking confused to lecture him about anything.

But no, that wasn't fair, and it would only give Rachel an excuse to be nervous and overprepared about _everything_, because then she would have, like, a reference point to a time when she wasn't quite prepared enough, and there was no way he was going to let that happen because he would possibly die of annoying if he let that happen.

So then _he _started getting nervous and hoping that his mom _wasn't_ drowsy on wine so she could understand Rachel's crazy just as much as Rachel wanted her to be able to.

And what the fuck, because suddenly he was _nervous_ about shit. And really, who _did_ that? He wasn't supposed to care about any stupid shit like that, and suddenly it was like he was Rachel's male clone or something which, seriously, was just _so _fucking stupid.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Are you all right, Noah?"

He realized he was muttering to himself a little (which was _another_ thing that Rachel did, and even though this one was a coincidence it was still sort of annoying).

"Yeah. Fine. Just…uh, thinking about football."

"Understandable. The amount of pressure you boys are under is enormous. Especially when you consider the fact that there are athletic scholarships to think about, and rival teams attempting to make a mockery of the great name of William McKinley."

"I don't even know who that is, so I really don't care about that," Puck grumbled. Rachel was about to respond with probably something about his unintelligence, which was okay because then she'd back it up with something about how he was hot, but then she jumped to her feet and grabbed her bag.

"Here's my father, Noah!"

Puck looked up to see that a car had pulled up to the curb, and a black man was waving at Rachel from within. Talk about your revelations. Rachel waved back eagerly before dragging Puck over to the car by the arm.

"Hey pops," she said with all that crazy peppiness multiplied by ten. "This is my friend Noah from glee club. Is it all right if you drive me to his house so we can practice?"

"Is this going to be like the time he came over our place to _practice_?" asked Rachel's father with evident amusement, looking Puck up and down like he was calculating the odds of Puck trying to get with his daughter.

"Daddy, I already told you, all we did was practice," Rachel insisted. "Just because you weren't home at the time, it does not mean that my intentions weren't completely honorable."

Rachel's dad sighed with what was obviously _not _doubt and was definitely disappointment, and Puck could totally see what she had been talking about earlier, how they sort of hoped that she was at home sexing it up when they weren't around just so that they wouldn't feel like she was a total reject loser or anything. Only Rachel hadn't taken the opportunity to make them the happiest gay parents alive. She told her dad that Puck was a _friend_, which Puck knew from experience was never a good thing if you wanted to get anywhere fun with a girl. _Friend_ to them meant someone you went shopping with and watched sappy movies with. _Friend_ to them couldn't be dynamic and cool like it was for guys. Unless you were Santana and Brittany, but that was different.

"Uh, yeah, we were totally just practicing," Puck said convincingly. "I could barely move my fingers the next day after all that strumming."

It was only when Rachel's dad looked over at him with barely-concealed amusement and unconcealed horror that Puck realized just how dirty that could be taken.

And then he just laughed.

* * *

Rachel waved goodbye to her father as he pulled out of the driveway at Puck's house a few minutes later. Puck waited until he was gone to say anything, because he had already embarrassed Rachel _and _himself enough for one day. But then as soon as her dad was gone, he turned to her, ready to be all calmly cold and shit, except what came out was a _lot_ less badass than he had planned.

"Dude, why'd you tell your dad we were _friends_?"

It was either really mean or really whiny. He couldn't tell. It all sort of depended on how she'd take it.

And, predictably, she thought that it was the way worse one: _whiny_.

"I'm so sorry! Was there something you were trying to tell me that I missed? You know I'm terrible with social cues. Especially non-verbal ones."

"No, that's not what I meant. I mean, we're totally dating now, right? Just because it's pretty much a 'hell no' to like, lasting more than a few months, we're still _dating_. And your dads would totally be psyched about that, wouldn't they?"

And then he sort of realized something. Rachel was trying not to look at him, was acting all shifty-eyed like Puck sometimes did when his mom was asking him about his homework, and generally looked like she didn't want to talk about it at all.

"Holy shit. You're _embarrassed_."

"I'm not."

"You _fucking_ are. You're embarrassed to date me. What the hell?"

"It's not that, Noah! I think you're a wonderful person and I would normally be so pleased to present you to _almost _anyone, but…"

"But I'm not good enough for your stupid gay dads?"

"That's not what I meant, and anyway, their sexuality has nothing to do with it Noah, so I'd appreciate it if you…"

"I'd appreciate it if you weren't fucking _embarrassed_."

"Will you let me speak?"

Her voice had risen in pitch a lot, so Puck knew it was time to shut the fuck up and let her talk. She didn't _usually_ get like that, but when she did, he had seen her do some crazy stuff, and he totally was not willing to be on the receiving end of that crazy. He was pretty sure that Mr. Schue would be traumatized for life after that time at practice when he'd accidentally implied that Mercedes had a more natural singing voice than Rachel.

"Okay. Fine. Sorry."

"Look, Noah, it's not that I'm embarrassed. I just don't want to get my fathers' hopes up. They met in high school, you know, were friends for years before they realized that they were in love with one another. They always say to me that high school is the time when everything feels like it's going to last forever, but things rarely do. Except _they_ did. Do you understand, now, why I might not want to tell them about our arrangement? As casual and fleeting as it will turn out to be?"

Puck felt weirdly sad, a little. He thought of Rachel's dad and his big smile and how he clearly cared about Rachel a lot. He didn't even seem a little bit annoyed when she talked forever about glee club and crammed about as much information as you could possibly cram into a five minute ride. And then Puck thought of how everyone at school was all 'our friendships are going to last _forever_', even though he knew from his mom and his cougars that they probably weren't.

And there was something in his head that was getting a little jumbled, but the basic idea was that it sort of sucked that everything had to be so messy all the time. Especially for people like Rachel.

"Yeah, okay," he said instead of saying that. "Yeah, I get it."

Rachel sighed with relief.

"I don't want you to think that I'm somehow embarrassed to bring you home," she admitted. "Because I'm not. There is nothing embarrassing about you, Noah Puckerman. Well, there isn't _much_ that's embarrassing about you."

Puck smiled a little, but only because it was pretty clear that she was _trying_, and he didn't want her to feel like that effort was wasted on him. Because it wasn't, because he was pretty stoked that she cared enough about him to try _at all_, since most people didn't.

But, fuck, he _hated_ the sentimentality of this whole shitstorm. He was _really _not looking forward to introducing her to his mom. It was going to be like an episode of _Grey's Anatomy_ or some shit, but without the blood and the car wrecks and whatever.

He made a promise to himself that if either of them started crying, he would just get up and _leave_. No amount of ass was worth _that_.

* * *

Noah briefly showed Rachel around his house, pointing out which rooms were used for which activities and divulging funny anecdotes about his family members that made him seem almost _normal_. Some stories were told with a smile and some with a tone of disdain, but there was no hiding the affectionate undertone to all of them.

There was no one home – his sister was at a friend's house for the afternoon and his mother was presumably working, although Noah wasn't entirely sure – but the house still had a comforting, cozy quality to it. It was easy to imagine it being habited by the small family, his sister doing homework at the kitchen counter, his mother – frazzled and frustrated – telling Noah to do his homework for the thousandth time, while Noah lounged on the couch with his X-Box. Not exactly a _picturesque_ scene, but as Noah was so vehemently trying to teach her: not everything had to be perfect.

It _was_ very dark, however, and Rachel set about rectifying that as soon as Noah left the room to go to the bathroom. She turned on some lights and pulled the curtains back from the windows and tied them in place. Some of the pillows were strewn on the ground, so she put them back on the couch where they belonged and made sure they were straightened satisfactorily. Then, she picked up the old pop tart wrappers that were on the coffee table and carried them into the kitchen to throw them in the trash.

On the kitchen counter on a pad of yellow paper was a list of chores that Noah was supposed to complete before his mother returned home, and Rachel didn't think it was too presumptuous to say that Noah probably would not be doing any of them. Since the first one was simply: _clean up your breakfast_, Rachel dispatched of the cereal bowl, toast crumbs, and the empty glass that had congealed orange juice stuck to the bottom, wiping down the counter with a sponge when she was finished. She wondered how it was at all possible that he could leave his breakfast behind, knowing that his mother would not have the time to clean it up. It wasn't as if it took a lot of time to clear his plates. There were many things about Noah that she knew she would probably never understand, but this was one thing that just baffled her senses entirely.

Even for a teenage boy, it was completely incomprehensible. She sighed and tossed the sponge back into the sink.

She turned to see Noah standing in the doorway, his expression unmistakably one of horror.

"No," he said simply when she started to explain her apparently unorthodox actions. "You are _not _cleaning my kitchen."

"Your mother left a list of chores, and I thought that…"

"No, see, this is what I was afraid was going to happen. You know she bitches at me every day to open the curtains when I come home? _Every day_. She's going to take one look at this living room, and she's going to basically blackmail me into marrying you. _Or _she's going to hire you as my maid, and as hot as you would look in one of those outfits, you are the _last _person I want going through my stuff on a regular basis, because I _seriously_ don't need any more lectures on how uncultured I am."

"Who gives you lectures on your lack of culture?"

"The point is that I don't need my mom thinking you're a gift from God, so…"

"Noah, you can't honestly tell me that you've been a delinquent thus far without realizing the easiest way to get your parents to appreciate what they have instead of being angry about what you've done?"

Noah looked at her, and it was his turn to be suspicious.

"What are you saying?"

"Well, as you might know, my family is currently involved in a number of pending lawsuits regarding my neighbors and their rather conservative views of what defines an 'appropriate' time to practice my singing, and whether the appropriate place is my backyard, at midnight. Yet despite these legal troubles caused by my unwavering drive and determination to succeed, my parents never once think that they are losing something more than they gain by having me in their life, because I am in all other aspects a model daughter."

"You're saying that they don't get pissed because you clean shit up?"

"Not only that. I do what they want with a smile on my face. If they ask me to take out the garbage, I drop what I am doing and I take out the garbage. Doing something without being asked is _also _key."

"You're shitting me. You're trying to tell me how to be a good bad boy? _You_?"

"If you considered my hypothesis more closely, I think you would realize how valid my points are. Think of how happy your mother will be when she comes home and sees these curtains pulled up. She will be _ecstatic_ that you've remembered something she obviously spends a lot of time worrying about. And cleaning up your breakfast, Noah? How hard is that _really_? Just a few minutes every day…"

"Yeah, but then she'll start asking me for more shit."

"Will it really take more time away from your schedule than the lectures do?" Rachel asked pointedly, and then she knew that she had him. "I can see that I make a valid point. Come on. Let's clean this kitchen and maybe then next time when you come home with a failing grade, you won't have to worry about the safety of your beloved X-Box Live account."

Puck could not believe that he was cleaning his house with Rachel Berry. Cleaning his house at all was like the stuff of nightmares. Cleaning it with _Rachel_ was a torture he never would have dreamed up on his own. He didn't even want to _think _about the fact that he was sort of having fun, because if he did that, he would have to acknowledge the fact that he was absolutely losing his fucking mind.

"Kurt of course acts as if he has it all figured out, but it's clear that he doesn't. I wouldn't normally take an interest, except that he finds it so pertinent to always point out to _me_ when I'm wrong about stuff, and it's hardly fair for me not to return the favor."

"Whatever. Kurt's just weird about stuff like that."

"True, but I find it antagonistic on most days."

"I thought you were friends?"

And suddenly Puck realized that he was _totally fucking talking_ about shit. And not just boobs or Modern Warfare, but _shit_. It wasn't exactly deep, but it wasn't at his shallow-as-hell comfort level, either. And it wasn't like Rachel had even offered to do anything for him in exchange for him actually _listening_. It was like after the day before, he had suddenly turned into a nutless, quivering pile of ooze who was more than willing to talk about _friendship problems_ with a girl he hadn't even been to second base with yet. _You do one nice thing for someone, and this is what happens, Puckerman. _

"We _are _friends. But that goes for all of the club as well, I think. We are friends on some level that is not quite on the same level as our real friendships. Admittedly, I don't have much expertise in the area of _real _friendships, but I'd like to think I have _some _idea of how it works. Kurt is very fickle with his affections for the glee club. I suppose that he is afraid of getting hurt, although I do not like to speculate."

"All you've _done _is fucking speculate," Puck groaned. "Can we go upstairs and make out or something? This goes above and beyond my housework duties for, like, the next ten years."

Rachel sighed and leaned her broom against the mop in the hall closet before consenting, "Fine. But only until your mother comes home. We will have to keep a careful ear out. I will not allow her to think that I am some harlot out to seduce her son."

"Trust me, she won't blame you if she catches us making out. She'll blame _me_."

"Well, we can't have that either, can we?" Rachel asked pointedly, and then she led the way up the stairs to his room.

And something about all of that last part of the conversation was totally fucking hot, although he wasn't sure exactly what it was.

Although seriously, it wasn't like it mattered.

* * *

They heard his mom pull up a few hours later, while they were sitting on his bed and watching some _Family Guy_ (which Rachel kept scoffing about, but she was laughing a little at some parts, so Puck figured that meant she really liked it and was just too much of a girl to admit it). Rachel immediately leapt off the bed as if the sounds of the tires crunching on the driveway were wired to like, an electrical device in her brain or some shit.

"We should be downstairs when she comes in," she hissed as she grabbed blindly for his arm. "Running down the stairs and looking guilty as she enters the house is _not _the first impression I want to be making."

Puck couldn't help the smile, although he tried to hide it. When Rachel glared at him, he threw up his hands defensively and said, "Come on, it's a little funny."

"It isn't. At all. Noah, I want this to go _well_! Come on!"

She dashed out of the room before he had a chance to even _think _about getting up, and by the time he got downstairs, his mother was opening the door and Rachel was seated primly at the center counter in the kitchen, her math homework spread in front of her.

He tried a few times to figure out how the hell she could have done that so fast, but each time his brain insisted that it was impossible. So he stopped thinking about it, because it was starting to freak him out.

"Oh!" exclaimed his mother with surprise when she saw Rachel sitting at the table. Her tired face immediately lifted, a bright smile flashing as she turned to Puck with a questioning stare. He sighed, giving in to the misery that was going to make his life hell for the next few hours. He'd spent the past few making out with a hot chick and taking occasional breaks to watch _Family Guy_, which was pretty much his version of _heaven_, so he guessed it was only fair that he had to deal with the shitty stuff, too.

"Mom, this is Rachel, my girlfriend," he ground out, the words sounding weird. He'd never actually introduced a girl as his girlfriend before. The closest thing had happened after his mom had walked in on him and Santana one day, and after a few seconds of stunned silence Puck had said, "Mom, Santana. Santana, mom. Close the door". Santana had snuck out the window after and that had been the end of that.

This was different. And probably better. Definitely less awkward, at least.

"It's wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Puckerman," Rachel said brightly, jumping up from her seat and sticking out her hand like this was a job interview or something. "I was just helping Noah study for our math test tomorrow."

"Really? You got Noah to study?" his mom asked, turning a grin on him that was really annoying only because he used the same smile all the time and it was _not cool _for his mom to use it.

"Yeah, it's fucking hilarious," he muttered, pushing past his mother so he could go into the kitchen and maybe stick his head in the oven. "I thought I'd bring Rachel home to meet you since, you know, you're always judging me for the chicks I date."

"I always judge you for the _whores _you date, Noah," his mother said jokingly, and he groaned.

"Mom, come on. Whores? You couldn't tone it down for one afternoon?"

"You're worried about me embarrassing you in front of your girlfriend? That's adorable! If I was any meaner, I'd probably be tempted to embarrass you on purpose for payback. All those times you've scared off men I've brought home."

"That's different," Puck insisted, but Rachel was shaking her head at him and he knew that meant that he should probably shut up. And if he thought about it, she was totally right. That was _not _the argument to get into with his mom while Rachel was standing right there. Especially since that was something that always led to them screaming at each other and shit.

"Mrs. Puckerman, I just wanted to say that you have an absolutely lovely home," Rachel said brightly. Then Puck's mom seemed to notice that the house was actually clean. Puck thought it was possible that Rachel did that on purpose, which was sort of scary because of the totally easy way she said it. Like it wasn't even a big deal or whatever. He couldn't even be sure that she _was _manipulating his mother into noticing. Maybe it was just an innocent comment that she made to be polite, but then again, she could have said a bunch of other things that wouldn't have brought up the clean part…

And that chill up his spine was totally because he was cold. Not because she freaked the hell out of him and also turned him on at the same time. Not at all.

"Noah, did you do all this?" his mother asked, giving him this weird look.

"Oh, dude, mom, come on. I didn't do this to impress Rachel. Don't even give me that."

Rachel fixed him with an amused expression, but he wasn't sure what it was supposed to mean. Then he turned and looked at his mom and saw that she was wearing the _exact same fucking one_. He almost cried. Almost.

"Come on, Rachel," his mom said. "Let's go sit in the living room and you can tell me a little bit about yourself."

"Certainly Mrs. Puckerman! That sounds absolutely delightful."

Rachel smirked at him over her shoulder as they headed to the couch, and Puck decided that it was official.

This was his Hell.


	10. Bruised 'Nads, Bruised Ego

This is a little shorter than usual, but I've been struggling with this chapter for a while now, and the best way to get past it is to just post it and move on to the next.

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! Your reviews are what keeps me taking time out from my annoyingly busy schedule to write this.

* * *

Chapter 10: Bruised 'Nads, Bruised Ego

Rachel was beaming giddily on her front porch, trying and failing to conceal her excitement from her new boyfriend, who was looking rather apathetic as he stood in front of her. She knew that her over-excitement and self-confidence could possibly be perceived as something threatening to Noah's masculinity, considering the fact that the past several hours had been filled with adorable little anecdotes about his childhood. He was clearly already teetering on the brink of losing his cool.

"I think it's precious that you have such a close and caring relationship with your mother," Rachel said innocently when she was sure that she had pushed his tolerance for her insinuating grin to the absolute limit. Noah glowered at her, but she didn't let it faze her. It was amazing that one simple conversation with his mother (an hours-long conversion, but a simple conversation nonetheless) could take all of the intimidation out of Noah's impressive glaring abilities. She no longer felt like he could hurt a fly, even emotionally.

"I swear to God, if you tell anyone…"

"Tell anyone what? Oh, that your mother still has the Valentine's Day poems that you've written her for the past eleven years?"

"She wasn't supposed to mention that. I told her _specifically _not to mention that."

"I don't understand what you're so embarrassed about. It's relieving to realize that you're actually in possession of a heart, and not just a shoddy imitation of one like I admittedly assumed was the case."

"I think you just dissed me, so, screw you," Noah said helplessly. Rachel could see that he was beginning to panic, and she thought that she understood why. Without holding the cards, Noah was impotent. He was used to being the calm, cold, mysterious jock with the ridiculous hair and the sexy grin. One evening spent chatting with his mother had sucked the mystery straight out of him, and had revealed things about him that went exactly counter to his adopted façade of rugged nonchalance. Rachel felt like singing.

"I think that this shift in the power balance was exactly what we needed. You know everything about me, Noah…"

"Because you never stop talking about yourself."

"…and I know almost nothing about you! It's hardly fair that I was expected to navigate this already complicated relationship without knowing how you were going to react to things. For example, you know you can placate me easily with compliments and presents, because already you have done that too many times to count and we've hardly been dating at all. The only thing I know about you is that you are far too juvenile for your own good, and you enjoy the thought of seeing or touching my breasts."

"Not if you talk about them like _that_," Noah chuckled derisively.

"Like what?"

"When you say _breasts_, you manage to make them sound completely unsexy."

"I'm not calling them anything crass and vulgar that you undoubtedly have in mind, so please don't try to bait me into it. It only insults my intelligence, and you know how I disapprove of your attempts to do that."

Noah laughed and shook his head, bending down slightly and pecking her on the lips. She was surprised by the move, but no less anticipatory of some kind of angle he was working or game he was playing. She knew that it was unlikely that he actually thought her endearing; she was annoying, that was a fact to many people, and although she disagreed with the assessment, she had to concede that it was so popular an opinion that she should at least regard it as an important facet of her public life.

But Noah did not seem annoyed. He seemed even frantically happy, perhaps. Giddy, almost. She wasn't exactly sure what that was about.

* * *

What that was about was Puck's total happiness to be _away _from his mother and Rachel and their stupid, embarrassing conversations about him. He never thought he would feel so nutless and completely turned off by anything in his entire life. He never, ever wanted to have sex again. But what was even _worse_ about the whole situation was that he actually sort of had a decent time, at least after his mother finally stopped telling Rachel stories about him being scared of thunderstorms and wetting the bed or whatever she was saying when he was too busy groaning in agony to listen to the conversation. Because then Rachel started saying all this shit about how great Puck was, and even though some of it was complete bullshit, and even though she very obviously avoided the whole slushie thing, it still made him sound like a complete BAMF, but in a way that his mother would think was sweet.

And, well shit, that felt pretty cool, because his mother usually liked to tell him that he had no hope for a future, and he was just like his father, and he was going to disappoint her eventually, and even though it was sort of still insulting that she was _surprised_ that someone like Rachel liked him, it was still nice that she like, believed it and shit.

Plus then his mom was in an awesome enough mood because of the clean house that she actually made them _fucking lasagna_, and it was really good because she put effort into it instead of just shoving a frozen dinner into the oven like she usually did. It was like, real lasagna. And it was fucking awesome. She even lit candles and shit.

So even though he would never _ever_ admit it to anyone (seriously, he could have a gun to his head and he'd still deny it), he had sort of enjoyed his evening with his mom and Rachel, despite the fact that they were both batshit crazy and he hated the fact that they needed to talk about him like he was some poseable baby doll or whatever. He didn't think he'd ever be able to look at porn or strippers in the same way again.

"Well," he said when he realized that Rachel was starting to look like she was about to glitch and start spewing random words because she wasn't sure why he was just staring at her. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Of course," she said with a smile, leaning in just enough that it was obvious she wanted him to kiss her. So he did, and he tried to keep it as decent and un-whorish as possible, because for some reason his mind wouldn't let him treat her like a piece of meat anymore. It was probably because she had met his mother. It was probably because his mother had adored her and if she wasn't dating Puck, his mother probably would have filled out the adoption papers right then and there or something.

But of course Rachel saw right through that, because her craziness was pretty much psychic. Which was total bullshit because he was starting to realize that he was never going to be able to hide anything from her, like _ever_. Unlike with Santana, who pretty much needed a map to even get that Puck thought she was an idiot (although that wasn't because she was stupid, it was just because she was a self-centered bitch).

"What's wrong, Noah?" Rachel asked, pulling back and looking at him with that seriously creepy expression she got whenever she was trying to figure something out. "Did I do or say something wrong tonight? I would much prefer if you would tell me up front. That way I will be able to assess the situation accurately.

"Were you being that nice to my mom just because she's my mom, or did you _really _enjoy that shit?"

Rachel smiled and said, "Of course I enjoyed it, Noah! Your mother is a lovely person and I am very happy that we had the opportunity to discuss you in depth! I now find that my job of understanding you is far easier than it was previously. Although don't think that means that I don't expect just the slightest bit of help on your part."

Puck couldn't help but smile at that, even though he didn't want to. It was just really hard not to be happy for her, even though his brain was shouting: _happy for her? Shut the fuck up. You're such a chick. Your 'nads are shriveling up into ovaries and you're going to start perioding soon. Shut. The. Fuck. Up.

* * *

_

The next day at school, Rachel was glowing. There was really no other way to describe the sensation. She felt as if she was on a cloud, floating above the rest of the school. She felt secure in her belief that she was somehow more superior to them, simply because she was _happy_. It was nice to have a boyfriend again, even if that boyfriend wasn't her first choice of Finn Hudson, because despite being the picture beside the word 'uncouth' in the dictionary, Noah Puckerman was actually a very sweet boy when he wanted to be, and she felt accepted by his mother entirely. There was something very touching about being accepted by someone's mother, especially since people tended not to like her and the odds of two people from one family being able to tolerate her presence was nothing short of a miracle. She was, of course, not going to _ask _Noah if she could meet his sister, although she was looking forward to an encounter. It would be lovely if the entire Puckerman family liked her.

She strode towards her locker with a smile on her face and a bounce in her step, and she truly felt that if Quinn Fabray herself approached her at the moment and asked to be friends, Rachel would not hesitate before saying _absolutely yes_, because her heart was so full of laughter and lightness that she could make room even for the most unfavorable elements that had previously plagued her.

Of course, Quinn Fabray did _not _approach her. Karofsky approached her, and before she could say a word to him, he drew back his arm and aimed a slushie directly at her face.

The expected titters and giggles arose from the assembled students, but this was more nervous than usual because word had gotten around about how Karofsky had been suspended for something involving Rachel, and should not have been at school, and was apparently targeting Rachel, and there was something about that which made the students too uncomfortable to really enjoy. Of course, that didn't mean they would actually say something. They only watched and laughed and inwardly wondered if they should be finding it as amusing as they did.

It was only a small comfort to Rachel, who crept into the bathroom with her glowing face now a result of shame rather than euphoria. Several Cheerios giggled and openly lamented their not being present to actually witness the ordeal, and then they disappeared into the hallway to let her clean herself off.

Another small comfort.

Rachel waited until they were gone before she broke down and cried, her tears sliding down the blue gunk on her face. Fortunately, she was wearing a jacket today, and if she was very careful then she would be able to clean off her face and take off the jacket without spilling any slushie onto her shirt. Of course, the jacket would have to be thrown in the trash because it was completely ruined, but she was sure that her fathers would not mind buying another for their apparently-absent minded daughter. They would just remind her yet again to stop leaving her jackets and sweaters and gym clothes in places where they could be thrown out by the janitors (who, in Rachel's stories, had a grudge against her because she made them stay longer at school so that she could use the auditorium. Which was true, except that the janitors adored her because she brought them home-baked goods and burned them CDs of all their favorite music as a reimbursement for remaining at the school an extra hour).

After disposing of the jacket, she began scrubbing her tear-and-slushie stained face with water so hot that it burned her skin and left her feeling breathless. Breathless to the point where she couldn't even cry anymore, just stare at her reflection and gasp for air. Her lungs seemed to shrivel within her, and her gut felt as though it was being wrung by the strong hands of someone who wanted to cause her the most pain possible.

Why did things like this happen to her? Why _her_, of all people? Had she ever done anything willfully malicious that so offended people that they needed to humiliate her on a daily basis? Why was it that people found her so offensive? Was it her determination, her outgoing personality, her confidence? Of course, she believed in herself when high school was typically supposed to be a time of uncertainty and angst, but she had never felt the need to indulge herself in such negative attitudes. She was goal oriented by nature, and surely that wasn't something to regard as a flaw so damning that it would need to be rectified via iced drink.

She pushed her hair back, now dripping wet, and stuck her chin in the air defiantly.

They would _not _break her. They could try, and she had no doubts that they would try indeed, but she had to be strong. She had been strong so far, and she would continue, because it was the only thing she _could _do.

* * *

Puck walked into school wondering if he was supposed to go to Rachel's locker or something. He wasn't really sure how the normal boyfriend stuff worked, because he and Santana had always just met in the abandoned janitor's closet to make out or fellate or copulate or whatever they thought they had time for before class started. The awesome thing about Santana was that she didn't really care about the normal girl bullshit. At least, not until Quinn started talking about credit scores during the celibacy club meetings, and then his high school girl fix was gone. He would have his cougars, sure, in the summer, but he didn't see too much of them during the school months. No reason to have the pool cleaned over the winter or anything. Plus, to them he was just a summer fling. Some dangerous new play toy to have over when the husband was at work. Although it wasn't like he thought anything different of _them_.

No, normal girls were completely out of the picture for Puck, and even with this new development where he was supposed to be a legit boyfriend, it was still pretty unreal. Calling Rachel normal was completely false and also sort of hilarious. There was probably no one less normal in the world. Unless maybe you counted terrorists or those priests who touched little boys, or something.

He still couldn't decide what to do about Rachel's locker, so he figured he'd just walk past it and see if she was there. If she was, then maybe he'd do the head nod thing and see if she wanted him to come over. That way it looked like he didn't really _want _to be there, but then he'd go over and Rachel would be all like, _what a gentleman_, or whatever she'd say. Actually, she'd probably say _what a gentleman_ because she was sort of a freak.

Yeah. That would totally work.

But when he walked past her locker, she wasn't there. So then he was like, _well, where is she_? She was _always_ at her locker in the morning. He used to consider it the best time to slushie her, because it was the only time of the day when it was a sure thing. She would hang out there for at least fifteen minutes before heading to class, and it was always best to get her right at the end, right when she was turning away from her locker. That way he could make eye contact or something, and then _bam_, right in the face.

He felt like an ass, suddenly, even though he had pretty much avoided feeling like an ass for that despite the whole dating thing. He had apologized for it, so that should make it done and over with. Only it sort of didn't, which blew some serious chunks, because he really wasn't used to feeling _guilty_ for shit, and he definitely didn't want to start now.

Once he got to the end of the hallway, he turned around and went back. He didn't really care if he was being creepy; he was going to keep walking up and down the hallway as long as it took for her to show up. If he was _ever _going to get some under-the-shirt action (and he didn't even want to get mentally started on that under the _skirt _action that was seriously going to need to happen soon), then he was going to need to pull out all the stops. And the whole locker thing was sort of the only way he could think of. He'd need to ask Finn about being a good boyfriend. Of course, he wasn't going to do half of the shit that Finn suggested, but sometimes Finn's stupidity could actually be sort of brilliant, when he wasn't trying.

Finally, on one of his walks back, he saw her shoving something into her locker and then slamming it closed. He approached her from the side he always used to throw slushies from, but didn't consider how that might be awkward for her at all until she flinched automatically when she saw him coming.

He pretended that he didn't notice, because it was a lot easier to get away with stupid shit when people thought you were an idiot.

"Hey, so, I was just wondering…" he started, but then he noticed that she looked really upset. And then it was like, _fuck_, because he was noticing all that shit about her lately and it was really fucking uncool. _Really_. Especially since he totally didn't want to deal with it, but at the same time his mind was going, _did some prick make her upset? Does some jackass need to eat my fist_? and other random things like that. And while the psycho, overprotective boyfriend thing was at least a step up from the whipped kid who let Rachel and his mom completely terrorize him for a few hours, it was still annoying because he liked his "natural apathy" even though Rachel always said that like it was the worst thing in the world.

"Hello, Noah," Rachel replied brightly, smiling up at him all crazy like she usually did, only not. Because there was something _definitely _different about her that he couldn't exactly figure out.

"Are you okay?"

"Of course. I'm simply running a little late today, that's all. My fathers neglected to remind me that my alarm was malfunctioning yesterday and so I did not have the opportunity to test it and then, of course, it failed to go off and I was awoken ten minutes later than usual. I don't think you'd quite understand how crucial it is for me to awake exactly on time because my schedule is regimented to the very last second…"

She kept talking, but other than grabbing certain words here and there, Puck had pretty much stopped listening altogether. No one needed to listen to that shit. Jesus fucking Christ.

And then he realized that she was talking a whole bunch because she knew he _wouldn't _listen and would drop the subject. And he totally was all right with that, because what the fuck was he going to do; ask her again? If she didn't want to tell him, then whatever. She could keep secrets. Shit. He didn't care. At all. It wasn't like they were _really _going out, not like Finn and Quinn were going out. And it wasn't like he'd care even if they were.

No, Puck didn't care about that kind of stuff.

He didn't care even a little.

* * *

Rachel was relieved when Noah finally headed off to his class, because she had pulled off her manipulation of him. She admittedly felt guilty for resorting to such unfavorable behaviors, but at the same time she saw no other alternative. She had decided not to tell him about the slushie because it seemed to her that the tension between he and the rest of the "jocks" at the school was already at an all-time high, and once word got around that he had squealed to Figgins about Karofsky because of the gleek freak, it was sure to be difficult enough without any added variables. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate his concern for her. She just didn't want to see anybody get hurt as a result of them (other than Karofsky, of course).

No, she would keep Karofsky's latest attempt at meaningful retaliation to herself, and hopefully Noah would not find out from any other sources. She would have to count on the shred of nervousness that Noah still managed to inspire in the masses of McKinley High not to say anything to him, for fear of Noah forgetting the old adage, "don't shoot the messenger".

She started off down the hall with a heavy heart, her spirits lifted slightly by the fact that this probably meant that the worst was over. Once Karofsky realized that there would be no more retaliations, he would perhaps fade away into the background, or at least maybe not be so noticeable.

She was so pleased with her hypothetical outcome that she did not notice his presence in the rehearsal room until after she closed the door behind her, and then it was too late. She jumped with surprise and backed away from him instantly, her mind going into a survival mode that told her that the bottoms of the music stands were very heavy and she should take advantage of that if the need arose.

"Look, I'm just here to talk," Karofsky said innocently, spreading his hands wide. Rachel noticed that he looked nervous. Perhaps that was a result of being caught on school grounds during a suspension, or perhaps it was the fact that he'd realized that tormenting the girlfriend of Noah Puckerman was not a good idea. Either way, Rachel felt growing confidence and a sense of power that she was quite unused to. It was wonderful.

"You have a lot of nerve, David," she said haughtily, suppressing the tremors in her voice as much as she was able.

Karofsky looked surprised at the steely quality of her tone (she hoped), but he took a step closer nonetheless. She took a step back and found her back against the wall.

"I know you and Puckerman are probably planning some kind of revenge for the slushie or whatever, but don't even _think_ about it, you got that?"

"Actually, Noah and I were planning on being the bigger people and letting well enough alone. Your juvenile antics are so tiresome. I don't think you realize that our world does not revolve around you and your petty attempts to dim my star potential with confidence-crushing ice drinks to the face."

"Whatever. Just don't do anything, all right? Because if you do, you'll be sorry."

He was even closer than he had been a few moments before, although Rachel did not remember him moving. He was almost close enough to touch her. She was not at all comfortable with that realization, but she would not allow it to show on her face. That would not do her any good.

"We'll be sorry? I'm sure you have yet another witty and oh-so-hilarious prank planned, but unfortunately for you, I have matured past the age of twelve and will probably not understand it. Really, I must again stress the fact that Noah and I are better people than you, and we have decided not to carry out these ridiculous wars any further. I would have hoped that you had learned your lesson, but alas, that seems not to be the case. Although I don't know how I could have expected anything from _you_."

"You know what, shut the hell up! I'm trying to warn you, and you're being a mega-bitch."

"Mega-bitch?" Rachel asked, her voice growing in volume as she shoved away from the wall and drew herself up to her tallest but still lamentably short height. "I will show you a mega-bitch, Karofsky, if only you _dare _to try and harm me in any way. I may seem like a very evolved and very mature young lady, and I assure you that I am, but I am not afraid to fight back anymore. Your formerly hurtful words and your attempts to make me hate everything that I am will no longer work. You are nothing, you are no one, and in a few years you will be a humorous story to tell in magazine interviews in which I will greatly exaggerate your numerous physical flaws. If you feel it necessary to insult me again, I am not afraid to hit you."

Karofsky pushed her with such sudden intensity that Rachel flew back against the wall, and he slammed his palm on the wall beside her.

"Listen to me!" he growled, far too close to Rachel's face for her personal comfort.

"No!" Rachel shouted, and she promptly stamped her foot onto his. He looked down incredulously, staring at her attempts to harm him with her dainty ballet flat while he was clad in formidable combat boots. Rachel sighed and brought her leg in the other direction so that her knee made contact with his genitalia. He stumbled backward, reaching out to grab her at the same time, and she fled from the scene, screaming as his outstretched hands grabbed hold of her shirt for a quick moment and almost pulled her back.

When she got out into the hallway, she pulled her sweater tighter around her and hurried towards her first class. Her mind was reeling, and she knew that she should go to Principal Figgins with the incident, but what proof did she have that the encounter had even occurred? And even more unfortunately, she would not put it past Karofsky to retaliate if she once again blew the figurative whistle on his increasingly frightening behaviors. No, it would be better to keep it to herself. And perhaps then Karofsky would stop fighting back.

Yes, that of course was what would happen.

* * *

Puck realized that things were going to be really fucking annoying around the time that his math teacher told him that he was supposed to be partners with Quinn Fabray. And then it got even more clear when she looked over at him with this expression that was like, basically something that Satan might use if he just stabbed Jesus in the chest with his pitchfork, or something.

_Fuck_.

Quinn sauntered over to him, which was sort of funny because she was pregnant, but also sort of sad because she was trying to be all sexy but she just looked like a watermelon. Her face was still hot as hell, though. So there was that.

"What up?" he asked, trying to sound all casual or whatever.

"I've had some time to think," Quinn replied, still looking all smug and crazy.

"And you decided not to be such a _bitch_?"

"No. I decided that you're _really _an unfortunate person if you are stringing Rachel along in an attempt to make me jealous."

"Well, apparently it's working, because you won't shut the fuck up about it."

"Puck, if you use language like that in front of my kid one more time…you know, apparently the fetus can, like, _hear _you, so just stop. And _no_, that's not why I'm talking to you about it. I'm talking to you about it because I can't stand the idea of my child turning out to be as horrible as you."

Puck felt the sting of those words like she had legit just slapped him or something. He shook his head at her, trying to think of the words that he wanted to use to tell her _exactly_ how she made him feel.

"You…fuck you! You know what, I don't need this shit just because you can't handle your wine coolers and I can't handle seven beers, and you decided that Finn was perfect except for the fact that he can't stick it in you for more than three seconds without…"

"Puck!" Quinn hissed loudly, slapping her hand over his own on the desk and digging her nails into his skin in a way that was totally scary and almost a little hot, but mostly scary because he was pretty sure he was bleeding. "I don't need to remind you that I have promised already that I will be taking the secret of this baby's patronage to my grave. Whether or not you understand the seriousness of this, it doesn't matter. Because I understand it enough for the both of us. And you wonder why I think you'd make a horrible father."

"You think I'd make a horrible father because you think Finn is perfect, just like everybody else," Puck muttered.

"Yeah? That's because he _is _perfect, idiot. He's sweet and kind and…"

"…and a fucking moron?"

"For someone who's supposed to be his best friend, you're such a jerk to him. It's not like you're a genius, either."

"Yeah? Then how come I'm the only one who seems to notice that he's like two hits on the head away from becoming Brittany's IQ equal? Everyone else talks about him like he's our answer to Einstein or whatever, and he's an idiot! He thinks you got pregnant in a hot tub! That shit is like, middle school health class. Even _I _paid attention to that part in middle school health class."

"Oh, all right, Puck. Then what do you suggest, that we get together and form a relationship based in mutual dislike? Let's be real, here. The only reason we're even talking right now is because we made this mistake with our shared DNA. We didn't like each other before, and we're forced to at least attempt to be civil to each other _now_, but that doesn't change the fact that we're never going to have the same connection that Finn and I have. So asking me to give up what I have with Finn just because I'm pregnant and _you _think that you deserve a shot to make my heart race faster is just…it's stupid, Puck."

"Whatever. You're a bitch anyway."

"Well then you can stop trying to make me jealous with manhands. And, for the record, like that would even _work_."

"I already told you! I'm not trying to make you jealous!"

But even as he said the words, he realized something. So _he _definitely wasn't trying to make Quinn jealous. He knew that. But was Rachel still trying to make Finn think that she had more going on than she did? He knew from being forced to listen to Cheerio chatter on the buses to away games that the best way to make a guy want you was to be unavailable. Get a boyfriend and suddenly every guy interested in vag noticed how hot you were and wondered why he didn't get on that before. He had to admit that he hadn't even looked at Quinn twice until Finn asked her out. Then he'd been all like, _why didn't I think of that_?

Rachel had said that she wanted to date him so that she could get over Finn, but was it more like she wanted to get _on_ Finn? Stupid joke aside, it seemed like it made sense. She always looked at Finn with those stupid moon eyes, and she had seemed really fucking weird at her locker earlier when she was all twitchy and nervous. Maybe she felt guilty because she met his mom?

Shit. For some reason, that made him a lot angrier than he already was.

And then he looked at Quinn and saw her looking back and he said, "I'm not trying to make you jealous."

"I heard you the first time, Puck. And I'm glad. Because even though manhands is…manhands, she still deserves better than that. Everyone deserves better than that."

She got up to go to the bathroom, and Puck stared at the spot where she used to be and wondered how the hell he was supposed to charm, fuck, or fight his way out of this one.


	11. The Fastest Way To Kill A Relationship?

Hi, once again, sorry about the delay. I can't seem to catch a break with this time thing.

* * *

Chapter 11: Fastest Way To Kill A Relationship?

The one thing that Puck had always sworn he would never do was get attached to some girl in fucking _high school_. Emotionally, anyway. He was more than okay with getting attached to them in all sorts of crazy physical ways, and he'd pretty much gone through the whole spectrum of physical shit you could do with a girl (except most of the gross stuff). That was one of the benefits of cougars. They taught him more than any teacher would have been able to (unless one of his teachers was a cougar. Then that would have just been fucking awesome).

But then he got Quinn pregnant, and _that _was all sorts of messed up, because he knew enough from his mom's most drunken of drunk ramblings that if he abandoned the mother of his kid, even if she was a judgmental bitch about a lot of stuff that he did (and stuff that everybody else did, but whatever. He was Noah _fucking _Puckerman, and she was lucky he'd chosen to spill his seed into her) then he was a shitty person. Full stop. And he pretty much accepted that he was a dick about most things, but he generally liked to think that he was overall a decent person. And if he skimped out on his kid, he was wrong. It was that simple. There was no gray area according to his mother, and that meant that there was no gray area according to him, either.

And then there was Rachel. Puck thought it was pretty clear that he only clung to her like he did because she was totally representative of all the things he didn't think he liked before he got Quinn pregnant. Because getting a chick pregnant when your only source of income is like three steps away from prostitution is pretty mind blowing (if he felt things like fear and pants-wetting terror, then it would probably be _that_, but he settled for mind blowing despite the fact that it didn't even begin to cover the descriptive purposes). It sort of rocked his world and made him start wondering about shit that he'd been taking for granted ever since he watched his first _Rambo _movie and realized that being a badass was _totally _the way to go.

And so naturally that was like, Rachel. So that was probably why he'd had that dream about her or whatever. And that dream was pretty much the only reason he asked her out in the first place. So it wasn't like he _really _cared that he thought Rachel was using him. He actually sort of admired the size of her ovaries. Not every girl would have dared to actually _use_ the dude who used to throw slushies on her for the pure sport of it. Of course, there was the chance that she wasn't actually using him, but he was finding that less and less likely.

No, Rachel was definitely one of those chicks in those old school black-and-white movies that Mrs. Pelequin showed in film class where the chick with the dark lipstick and the weird hair would ask the private eye with the lame ass trench coat to solve a murder while she was secretly trying to do some crazy shit behind his back that was too confusing to be followed by anyone without half a brain. Rachel was all calm and cool and totally disarmed him with her hotness to the point where he was willing to trust anything she said purely because agreeing with her might get him boobs. _Boobs_. He didn't even hold out for access to her vagina like he usually would have!

And so he was attached. Like Krazy Glue attached. Like, there was no hope of escaping, attached. And sure, he was almost positive that he would get over it. His mom said all the time how when you grew up, your tastes changed, and you stopped caring about the things that used to seem super important. Puck sort of hoped that he wouldn't change too much, because he thought he was awesome, but he was also pretty sure that change wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing about _some _of his personality. Like, if he could develop some sort of attention span, that would be all right. Or if he started remembering things more easily, like his social security number or the capital of Ohio, or whatever. Stuff like that.

But at the moment, he was sort of okay with not being able to outgrow Rachel. _Sort of_. Not like, _a lot_ okay, because he was still a little annoyed with himself for liking her at all, but he was at least remotely all right with it because, hey, there was still the chance of boobage. The week was young, and Rachel wasn't a prude enough to wait for marriage or at least until she was drunk enough that she could blame it on him in the morning. No, Rachel was definitely special. And not just in that 'wow she sings really good' way, because he honestly didn't give a shit about that. It was in that weird sort of, 'maybe she can totally help me with my future' kind of way that scared him. He was a high school boy. He wasn't _supposed_ to think about his future. But it was sort of hard to avoid because Rachel was always talking and talking forever about her stupid dreams and stuff that made his determination to beat all four _Left 4 Dead_ campaigns on Expert look pretty fucking petty.

So he had officially lost it. And that was why he was waiting outside Rachel's locker for the end-of-the-day bell to ring. Actually, he wasn't even really sure why he _was_ there, only that what Quinn had said to him earlier was kind of annoying him. He just wanted to get it all out on the table. If Rachel _was _trying to make Finn jealous, he didn't want her to think that he didn't notice. He didn't want her to think that it was just _okay _to do that, because it wasn't, because even though they were using each other, at least there was a level of mutual agreement there. He wasn't using her to make Quinn jealous, because that had been part of the deal, and he intended to keep up his end. If she was still trying to hook Finn, then that was just low. And he wanted her to know that.

The bell rang, and Puck felt his heart jump-start. He knew that she would be the first one out of her class, because she always was, because she was a complete freak like that. He knew this because he would leave class early too, but like an hour early. Not three seconds early, which was lame. That was the big difference between he and Rachel. She did _lame _things, but they were close enough to his _cool _things that they got all confused when he tried to think about them. And it was sort of nerve-wracking, because suddenly he'd start thinking about crazy shit like, _what's so wrong with being a geek, anyway_?

He cleared his head of whatever thoughts he could find, repeating the same ideas over and over again in his head so he wouldn't get off topic. It was hard to stay _on _when you were talking to Rachel, because she had all these crazy ass ideas about things, and it was sometimes easy to get caught up in it, if you weren't busy trying your hardest to not listen at all.

Then he watched Rachel's steps stutter as she saw him leaning casually against the wall. Her eyes were wide and her mouth wider in a smile that made him feel totally stupid. _So _stupid that he completely failed to say anything as she walked up.

And his whole damn plan had counted on him getting the first word in.

"Hi," she breathed, reaching up on her tip-toes to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek, which was lame but also made his skin tingle a little, like coming in from the cold.

"Uh, hey. Look. I sort of wanted to talk to you about something."

"Noah, I'm sure I'm merely being overcautious, but I hope you're not going to ask me about anything relating to sex or my teenage sexuality, because as I'm sure I've already made you well aware…"

"No! Jesus, no. Stop. You're going to make sex sound like the unsexiest thing ever with your big words. Look, yes, I totally want to bang you before my balls shrivel up and melt off like someone just opened the fucking Indiana Jones box…"

"Arc of the Covenant."

"…and even though it's completely hot that you knew what I was talking about because Indiana Jones is awesome, I'm trying to say something here, all right? You get to talk ninety percent of always, so can I have like, three seconds?"

"I'll give you six," Rachel said thoughtfully, and for a full two of those seconds, Puck was confused enough by her casual attempt at a joke that he didn't speak.

"Okay, look. I don't want you to think that I've been, like, _thinking _about this, at all, but Quinn sort of mentioned something today and it got me…uh, thinking. I just want to know if you're only in this to make Finn jealous."

"What? I thought we discussed this."

"Yeah but, you know, it's not like I've always been totally honest with you all the time, so I wouldn't be _offended_ if you were lying or whatever. Except, if you decided not to tell me the truth after this, then I would _totally _be offended, which is why I'm saying something at all. If that makes sense."

"Oh, Noah, it makes perfect sense! Quinn Fabray, putting those thoughts in your head. Honestly. No, Noah, I was entirely honest with you when we arranged our deal to become romantically involved once again. This is an exercise in physicality and a hopefully beauteous friendship for me. Like it or not, I need to move on from Finn, and you are the most excellent candidate for the position because you are the antithesis to everything that Finn is."

"Whoa, hold up. What do you mean by that?"

"Antithesis means the opposite of."

"Shockingly, I knew that. I'm just a little confused because, I mean, what, do you think I eat babies and kick holes through puppies? You think the sun shines out of Finn's ass so…"

"No, not at all! I'm simply saying that my feelings for Finn are akin to a fantasy. They were _built_ on a fantasy. Which I know I said was the same as the basis of _our _initial relationship, and in a way it was. But in another very real way, it wasn't. How should I explain this…Noah, what we experienced when we were romantically involved was strangely uplifting for both of us. Yes, we struggled to find things in common and our conversations were often centered around my topic of choice because you lack my natural vociferousness, but the wonderful thing about you was that you were _here_, with me, and you were willing to learn to enjoy my company. With Finn…Finn only learns what he can do to help himself and Quinn. Which, of course, I'd never say wasn't admirable but I'm afraid I'm selfish enough to want something more. Finn will never have enough room in his life for me. It was never _meant to be_ with him. He was my leading man, my partner in making the world a better place through song, and despite my affinity for cop shows and the romantic tension between law enforcement partnerships, I very quickly deduced that our love would not at all be like Stabler and Benson, Booth and Brennan, Lassiter and O'Hara, Reid and Jareau, although those last two are merely my preferences, and actually not at all canonical despite…"

"Oh my God. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm sorry. I forget that you don't watch television as much as I do. When you exercise as frequently as I and when you're used to multitasking, television is a natural answer."

"Uh…"

"Of course, none of this is on topic at all, and I'm sorry. What I've been trying to say is that I'm not attempting to make Finn jealous because I know that it will not work. Finn cares for me in the way that I care for him. It is a lie, it is a fantasy. He sees a vulnerable young ingénue looking for a leading man, and I see a strong athletic natural leader who is also easily susceptible to my wiles. We see each other in terms of our ideal mates, Noah. And while Finn may be my schoolgirl fantasy, _you _are reality."

"I'm sorry, I still…that sounds sort of bad."

"Oh, not at all! I merely meant that, due to my past experience with my feelings for Finn and my feelings for you, and my attempts to compare them, I've deduced that Finn is the ideal fantasy mate, but it was too ideal a fantasy to attain. It never existed because _he _never existed, at least in the way that I thought he did. But you exist, and you're real, and you're so _different _from any other fantasy that I've had that it took a while for me to ascertain what I felt for you. And while it's still not as earth-shattering as formulaic romantic comedies make it out to be, it's _real_."

"So you're saying that you like me because I'm a loser."

"That's not at all what I was saying!"

"Um, yeah, you kind of were. I know I understood at least _that _much without needing to break out my fucking thesaurus. Look, I get that you're trying to be all fair and honest, and that's cool, except _holy shit_, I can't believe you really said that. You don't _say _stuff like that."

"Noah, you know I have a problem with my social filter…"

"Well get it fucking fixed then. You don't tell your boyfriend, no matter _how _casual, that he's only your boyfriend because you realized that your Prince Charming is actually Prince _Idiot_. You know how many girls would try to poison your slushies to get what you're getting? And you're telling me that _I'm _not _your _fantasy?"

"Noah, I can sense that you're about to be aberrantly cruel, and please reconsider."

"No, you know what, if you get to be honest, then I get to be honest, too. Just because I don't use fifty words to describe one single emotion, it doesn't make it any crueler. Because you know what my fantasy is? My fantasy is peace and quiet. My fantasy is a girl who doesn't use a ton of words to make her feel better about the fact that no one likes her. My fantasy is someone who never tells me that I'm not their damn fantasy."

"Oh, please, Noah! You're acting like a child! A jealous, spoiled child."

"_You're _acting like a child!"

"Yes, because honesty is so childish. And while we're on the subject, did you think that throwing slushies in my face and throwing eggs at my house and lurking about in the shadows was the way to go about establishing yourself as a fantasy figure? Because while you may find me to be insufferable and petty and selfish, at least I don't terrorize people for lack of a more enterprising activity to fill my time."

"I don't even do that anymore."

"Well, it's not something I can just forget."

They stared at each other blankly, barely registering the fact that the hallway was empty, and that everyone else was gone except for a few stragglers at their lockers who were torn between fear of Puck and intrigue at what he and Rachel could possibly talk about.

"I think this was probably a mistake."

Puck was surprised at how much it stung that she was possibly breaking up with him _again_. And, sure, part of that hurt was the shame at how far his reputation had fallen. But another part of that hurt was undeniably the fact that he just couldn't get it right. No matter what he did, he couldn't be her Finn. He couldn't be _anybody's _Finn.

"Rach…"

"You know what? I need some time to think. We wanted casual. Maybe we were foolish to think that we could manage given our past. Maybe it was just a fantasy all along." She laughed bitterly and hiked her book bag over her shoulder. "So at least you can be comforted by that fact."

Puck almost stopped her. He could feel his muscles twitching in his biceps, burning to reach out and prevent her from leaving. He knew from experience with chicks that the longer they had to think about why they were mad, the more reasons they would come up with to stay that way. But he didn't say anything. He just let her go.

He stayed leaning against the wall and wondered how the hell it got so out of control so fast. Why couldn't he have just said his rational speech like he had intended. It was all full of 'you know, I really don't care's and 'honestly, I just want to touch your boobs's, and it was totally perfect. But he'd fucked it up, and now she thought he was bleeding from his mangina or something.

Fuck.

* * *

Rachel stood outside the school, exhaling heavily. She knew that she should have kept her cool considering that Noah was her ride home, but she didn't care. She had said what she wanted to say, and although it didn't have the ending she had hoped for, she was willing to face the consequences. After all, she should have expected it. People were not rational. People were not able to control their emotions as effectively as she was (sometimes. At least when it wasn't related to her career or talent). She could effectively separate her feelings for Puck from her feelings for Finn in terms that she thought were easy to understand, but Noah had apparently disagreed.

It wasn't as if she was saying that she didn't find him desirable. Indeed, she thought he was everything that she could want in a _physical _partner. But he was well aware of the fact that in the emotional department, he left a lot to be desired. And she had for some reason been under the impression that he was all right with that, or at least aware enough of it that he was able to compartmentalize reality from fantasy.

But he hadn't been. And she was out of a ride, doomed to walk home in the already-darkening afternoon.

She pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders, lifted her head in the air, and forced her chin to stop quivering through the unparalleled strength of her willpower. She would go home, pop in a DVD, and enjoy her afternoon binging on Ben and Jerry's before hopping on the treadmill and working off those calories with a new sense of purpose in mind. And her new determination? Avoid the other gender at all costs, at least until she was done with the year. Possibly the month.

She strode briskly down the street until she reached the nearest grocery store, and then headed inside to purchase several tubs of ice cream. While trying to decide between two very chocolatey flavors that seemed to contain the same basic ingredients to various degrees of chocolate-ness, she heard an approaching shuffling gait that could only belong to one very grace-devoid giant.

She turned to face Finn and his sheepish smile, a grin of her own flashing across her face although she tried to suppress it. She had meant what she said to Noah earlier – that she knew Finn was a hopeless dream – but that didn't stop her from feeling the same metaphorical conflagration in the pit of her stomach as she watched his goofy, lopsided self wave enthusiastically.

"Rachel! Hi! Wow, this is cool. Usually I don't see anyone here except Puck's mom, and she always judges me for buying so much ice cream because I feel awkward telling her that it's for Quinn's baby. I usually just tell her it's because I'm growing, but I think that stopped working once I hit six feet."

Rachel almost sighed with relief. Finally, someone nearly as gregarious as herself with whom to converse. Noah was so silent and so unwilling to participate in whatever conversations she wished to have. Finn, on the other hand, lacked a filter almost as much as _she _lacked a filter, so their conversations were at the very least satisfying on the chatter level. Unlike Noah, Finn did not get annoyed when she got off topic or rambled or did anything. Finn thought she was wonderful the way she was, and wasn't that the whole point of romance in the first place? Wasn't it accepting one another for the people that you were? Wasn't it loving what was in front of you instead of what was in your head? Rachel thought so.

"I'm buying some ice cream for myself, as you can see, because I've had quite a stressful day."

"Oh! Did you break up with Puck? Not that it's any of my business, or not that I even care or anything because…okay, maybe I care a little, but Puck's sort of a player, you know, and I don't want you to get hurt because you deserve better than that."

"I'm touched by your concern, but I really don't feel like talking about it. It would be unfair to Noah."

"Okay. But, just so you know, I'm available to talk or, you know, whatever."

Rachel smiled at him sadly and said, "Finn, no you're not."

Finn looked down at the ground, properly chastised by the implication in her tone. Rachel groped blindly at one of the tubs of ice cream, her eyes misting over in a sudden wave of tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks in a humiliating display of the melodrama she was so unfairly famous for. Before Finn could look up and see, she had already beaten a hasty retreat.

* * *

It was dark by the time she got back to her neighborhood, and the lights in the living room were out, which meant that her fathers were still at work. This was expected, because they were both very busy, but still a little disheartening. And, of course, it was a continued reminder of just how lonely she found her life to be, sometimes. If she had any friends, she would have been inviting them over to study or watch TV or even just _talk_ instead of curling under a blanket home alone with a baseball bat shoved under the couch where she could reach it in the case of unwelcome intruders.

She was just about to step off the curb at the corner and cross the street to her yard when she saw a dark shadow dart in front of her window. She only noticed it at all because the streetlight was reflecting off the glass and the shadow passed in front of it. So it was perfectly reasonable for her to assume that she was seeing things, but she ducked behind the neighbor's hedge nonetheless, her heart racing as she peered through the closely-connected branches to see if she could spot any more movement.

Like very few paranoid people, Rachel was aware that her fears were most often unfounded. However, her healthy _Criminal Minds _appetite had led to her firm belief that she should never discount a threat, no matter how seemingly inconsequential. And it was a good thing that she stuck to that policy on that particular night, because moments later someone else walked in front of the window, confirming her suspicions.

She briefly contemplated running away, but then remembered that one of her many heroes, Emily Prentiss (her feminist, kick-ass, justice-seeking hero), would stay put and discern what the threat level was before making any other movements. So Rachel stayed, listening intently, and as luck would have it, the culprits moved close enough to the sidewalk so that she could hear their exchange.

"Where the hell is she? You said four thirty."

"She might be with Puckerman or something."

"Well she better get here soon, or I'm going to be _really _pissed."

"Mark, look …"

"Don't tell me you're pussying out on me. We're not gonna hurt her. We're just gonna make her squirm a little."

"Dude, are you even listening to yourself? Stop acting like the biggest fucking creep ever. So the chick had balls. Yeah, I'm pissed. But stalking her is different. That's grounds for, like, police involvement or whatever."

"What, you think because you watch _Castle_ for that hot chick, you're suddenly a detective? Relax. No one's going to know it was us."

Rachel smirked to herself and drew away from the sidewalk silently. Karofsky could keep his _Castle_ and his Detective Kate Beckett. She preferred the infinitely more badass _Criminal Minds _ BAU Agent Emily Prentiss. And that was exactly who she would channel in order to get out of this mess.

Of course, first she had to get away. She thanked the powers of Kurt's wardrobe critiques for suggesting flats that morning, and she was able to sneak back through her neighbor's yard with very little difficulty or volume. Once she was safely pressed up against the side of a deck three houses away, she dug her phone out of her bag. But who to call? She couldn't tell her fathers; that would only make it worse. She couldn't call Noah because…well, because she was stubborn. Also, inviting him into the mess would only make it violent. The last thing she needed was a full-on brawl in her neighborhood. No, she would call Kurt. His affections for her were certainly not set in stone, but he had been nice to her that day, and she thought it was safe to assume that he would understand her current situation, given his past with bullying.

She dialed the number quickly and with fingers that trembled from the cold and the fear. When the youthful voice answered, she nearly sobbed with relief.

"Kurt?" she said as evenly as she could manage. "I don't mean to alarm you, but there are several boys staking out my house in order to cause me some kind of physical or emotional distress, hopefully the latter, and I need you to come pick me up so that I may inform the police."

It was only when she stopped talking that she realized that she heard music in the background, and a few whispering voices. Finally, a girl who was unmistakably Mercedes whispered, "She's fine. Just hang up."

Without so much as a word of protest from Artie and Tina – who were easy to hear in the background – the line went dead. Rachel stared at it with a flash of horrified resentment. How dare they? How _dare _they hang up on her? She was quite possibly going to end up on the news at eleven, and they hung up on her?

Her eyes were burning with humiliating tears as she furiously dialed Finn's number. Surely Finn would believe her story. Surely _he _wouldn't think she was being dramatic. Surely he would have to know that she would not call him for anything other than a life-or-death situation.

"Hello?" he said when he answered, already sounding warily surprised.

"Finn, I need your help."

"Oh, hi…Puck. What's up?"

Rachel inwardly groaned. So Quinn was with him. That was not at all conducive to her current predicament.

"Finn, there are several boys outside my house, and from the sound of it, they're not aiming to do anything savory to me if they discover my hiding place. I need you to pick me up. I don't feel safe going out into the open to escape."

"I'm really sorry, you know I would, but I can't. I don't have my truck. My mom needed to get to work. But, uh, maybe you should call Puck, anyway."

"I thought you said that _was_ Puck," Quinn said in the background.

"Uh, yeah, I mean, Puck, you should totally call, um, Mike or something. Because you _are _Puck. Sorry about that. I thought I was talking to…Kurt? For a second."

Rachel sighed with exasperation and flipped the phone closed. Fine, maybe she couldn't rely on the aid of her friends. But she _did _have to call somebody. And there was only one person left to call.

* * *

Puck felt like a total fucking idiot. It was bad enough that he was driving to her house at all, in the dark (granted, it was still pretty early, but it seemed so much later, and it made him feel so much more whipped), to apologize to _Rachel Berry_ (or at least try to get the upper hand back, which was a lot harder than it should have been), but he'd bought her fucking _ice cream_ (okay, he'd sort of bought himself ice cream, but he wasn't going to tell her that, and he thought she probably wouldn't ask too many questions and would hopefully just take the present and smile). He knew that the fight with Rachel earlier wasn't _totally _his fault, but he also knew that his mom thought Rachel was the shit, and he wasn't going to throw _that _away when his mom was still mad at him for buying a flamethrower off eBay with her credit card. Also he sort of liked Rachel because she made him feel good about himself, and why did it matter if they weren't totally in love or whatever? High school romance was stupid, everyone outside of high school knew that. It either ended, or everyone ended up miserable, like his mom and dad. So he and Rachel could be friends. That had been the plan all along, right? Right.

So, fuck, whatever. It wasn't like he actually _cared_ that she liked Finn, or whatever. So what if Finn got all the hot chicks, and so what if everyone thought he was _the shit_ despite the fact that he was sort of a dick about things (although it wasn't like he meant it, he just sort of _was _that way, without realizing it, and it was totally hard to hate him)? And so what if he actually sort of liked Rachel and wanted her to like him, because she _should have_ liked him, that was the thing?

But fuck, whatever. Like Rachel was such a prize, anyway. He never remembered why he liked her at all until he was with her, and even then it was sort of hard to pinpoint. Something about how when she smiled, she smiled _for him_ and not for anybody else, and she gave him her whole attention. And then she said shit, like out of the blue, and he'd realize that she really thought he was special. But then he'd leave her, and he'd think _fuck, what's wrong with me?_ And he'd try to remember why he liked her at all, but he couldn't, and he could only think that he _knew_, and that it _made sense_, in some weird ass way that didn't make sense at all.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why did he have to give her that slushie in the first place? Life was so much easier when he could pretend that he'd never dated her at all. She was just vaguely annoying, somewhat less vaguely hot, and definitely not important enough to warrant driving across _the whole damn town _to bring her ice cream because she bitched him out.

It was just like dating Santana again, except with less sex, which had been the highlight of that relationship in the first place.

But then he turned onto Rachel's street and saw the red and blue flashing lights parked in front of her house, and his brain almost literally exploded. Sure, he was sort of pissed at her and he definitely didn't feel too loving at the moment, but as soon as he saw those police lights he went to a pretty dark fucking place. Raised on movies where love interests were killed early on to set up a revenge-driven protagonist, girls were put in horrifying positions just so they could be saved by the normally-indifferent male, and shirtless action stars were randomly covered in grease in the middle of the desert, Puck had practically been waiting for this moment. But not really, because that would be stupid. But still, it was sort of scary. Because, holy shit. It was _just like a movie_, except _real_. And scary, because it wasn't a movie, and she could actually be hurt.

Karofsky's stupid fat face flashed in his mind suddenly, and he pulled up to the sidewalk with a squeal of tires that was jarring and probably not a good idea since that cop was standing right in the front yard and everything.

He jumped out of the car and immediately spotted Rachel standing in the grass, her arms folded across her chest and her hair flowing around her like some kind of model in a beach photoshoot (Rachel in a bikini? Fuck, he would totally have to stay with her until the summer, or find a friend with an indoor pool). Officer Dennett was standing a few feet away from her, and when he saw Puck his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Noah!" Rachel exclaimed, and she didn't smile like he expected her to. But then again, that was probably because there was a cop outside her house. Probably.

"Dude, what happened?"

"Are you sure he wasn't the one you saw outside your house?" Officer Dennett asked skeptically. Puck had to seriously fight not to flip the guy the bird.

"No, Noah and I are friends."

"We're sort of _dating_," Puck said, trying and failing not to sound as smug as he felt. Officer Dennett could shove it, seriously. "And what do you mean there were people outside your house? Was it Karofsky? I bet it was fucking Karofsky."

"Yes, I believe it was David Karofsky, but unfortunately I have no proof."

"Do you need proof?"

"If you want to press charges, yes," Officer Dennett said with a sigh. "Unfortunately when I got here, the perpetrators scattered, and I was unable to chase them down on foot."

The whole thing totally wasn't funny of course (Karofsky? Was fucking _dead_ the second Puck saw him), but he had to sort of stifle a chuckle at the image of chubster Officer Dennett trying to chase _anybody_. Usually when involved in chases with the guy, Puck wasn't stopping to think about how ridiculous it must look, let alone stopping to actually take a peek. But now it was sort of an unavoidable mental image, and Dennett totally knew it too, from the way he was staring at Puck like he was _daring _him to say something about it.

Puck didn't, and he thought that showed some serious strength on his part. Damn. His head was filled with so many good jokes, too; most of them about donuts.

Rachel didn't seem to notice that he was choking back laughter – _thank God_ – and actually it was really unsettling how calm she was. If it was Santana or Quinn, they'd be crying nonstop and screaming at him to _do something_, which was exactly what he wanted to do, but Rachel was acting like it didn't even bug her. Like there was nothing wrong at all.

"Is there anything you need?" he asked. "I bought you some ice cream, if you want that."

Rachel turned to him with a smile on her lips, finally, her eyes lighting up a little (_fucknuts, not _lighting up_. Just stop breathing. Just stop _existing_)_.

"I was wondering what brought you here. I thought maybe Finn might have called you."

"Why would Finn call me?"

Rachel looked ashamed suddenly, and Puck sort of figured what had happened. She'd called Finn to help her out. She had called _Finn_, and not him. But, okay, wasn't that sort of the point of the whole trip? To show her that he _totally didn't care_ if she still had a thing for Finn, because…well, fuck, he wasn't really sure _how _he felt. But he at least had to pretend that he didn't care, because that was what she wanted to hear. And if there was anything he learned from Finn's stupid relationship with Quinn (other than the fact that even Christian girls could be cheating bitches), it was that girls just wanted to hearwhat they wanted to hear, even if they maybe suspected that it wasn't true. Like when Finn told Quinn that he didn't like Rachel. _Obviously _he liked Rachel. He knew it, Quinn knew it, even _Rachel _knew it when she wasn't too busy thinking that everyone hated her. So if Puck told Rachel that he didn't care if she still sort of had feelings for Finn, she would believe him. She would be happy. She would know, maybe, that he wasn't totally serious, but she would be able to fool herself into thinking that it was okay.

Shit, that was sort of deep. And in like, the most awkward possible way. Rachel was seriously fucking with the way he thought about relationships and stuff.

Shit, relationship.

Shit.

"Um," Rachel stammered, but Puck shrugged good-naturedly.

"Whatever. Looks like he couldn't make it, right? And no, he didn't call me." That was a little passive-aggressive, but whatever. He could pull that shit if he _wanted_ to.

"Oh, then you were just coming for…fun?"

"Well, yeah, I sort of felt weird about what happened at school…"

"I'm sorry, but can you two work this out later? I need to finish up and get back," Officer Dennett sighed. Rachel laughed, and Puck forced a smile.

Everything was going to be okay.

* * *

Rachel was thoroughly surprised that Noah had decided to take the first step at repairing their argument. She had foreseen two possible resolutions to their argument; either they would simply stop dating and not speak after that (much like their first attempt at a relationship), or she would get up the nerve to call him or talk to him the following day in school, and they would tentatively start again, except this time with more concrete groundrules. This was utterly unexpected. Not to mention unprecedented.

Officer Dennett finally left with a promise to drive by in a few hours to make sure that everything seemed okay. At first, he had wanted to talk to Rachel's parents himself, but she convinced him that it was better for them all if they heard it from her.

"I have not told them much about my bullying experiences in high school, you see, and I think that they would benefit from hearing _all _of it from my mouth. But don't worry. I will certainly be telling them everything the moment they come home, and if we need further assistance, of course I will be asking for you directly."

She was proud of what wiles she possessed that allowed her to get away with things, and this was no exception. She of course had no intention of burdening her parents with the whole of the information, but rather desired the ability to inform them of the police involvement herself because she could omit certain things. For example, the fact that the attack was personally motivated instead of a random act of delinquency. Her fathers of course knew that she did not have much in the way of a social life, but there was no reason for them to come to understand the lengths to which her social ostracism extended.

As soon as Officer Dennett pulled away from the curb, she allowed Noah to lead her inside, because she knew that he liked to feel protective, and in truth she was in need of a feeling of protection.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Noah asked quietly, and it was strange because he truly was trying to make her feel at ease.

"Yes, of course I'm okay. Are you?"

"What? Yeah. Duh. I'm just…okay, seriously, what the fuck were they thinking? I have to kill them. I _have_ to. Literally, kill them. I'm not exaggerating."

"Of course you're exaggerating. You're not actually going to kill anyone, Noah."

"Well, no, I guess not _literally_, but…I mean, what the hell?"

"I'm as much at a loss as you are. After our conversation in the music room today, I was led to understand that Karofsky had nothing else planned."

"You talked to Karofsky today? I thought he was suspended."

"He approached me between classes today to warn me about thinking of retaliating for the slushie that he threw at me."

"Wait, is this a different slushie than the first time?"

"Yes. He threw a slushie at me this morning. It was unpleasant."

"What the fuck? Why didn't you tell me? This was when you were at your locker this morning, wasn't it? I _knew _you were acting weird! Why didn't you tell me?"

"I hoped that Karofsky would think that he got the last word in, you would think that _we _got the last word in, and no one would retaliate anymore. The whole thing could go on as a distant memory to fuel nostalgic conversations in later years when enough time had passed for it to be anything other than blatantly horrible and disrespectful. And it would have worked, had Karofsky not showed up at my house with the intent to make me 'squirm' or whatever it was that Mark said."

"Mark Linder? That was the other kid who was here? What the hell?"

"Honestly, Karofsky even seemed disturbed by his vigor."

"Well, no shit. Karofsky is like a fluffy baby rabbit compared to Mark Linder. The guy's the biggest delinquent the history of forever. He makes _me _look like…well, _you_."

"This isn't comforting in the slightest, Noah."

"It's not _supposed_ to be. Look, the reason I came here tonight was to tell you that I don't _care _if you like Finn. I don't care if you want to make him jealous, and I don't care if you don't think I'm your perfect fantasy. I still want to date you, because I _like _dating you, because you're easy to date and you're sort of nice sometimes when I can understand what you're actually talking about, even though you seriously need to learn some moderation and probably should start talking about shit that _ I _like, just out of fairness or whatever. And so, I mean, I guess I want to be your boyfriend still, even though I know you're probably going to make me regret saying this in like, five seconds."

Rachel smiled up at him with what she hoped was not a watery smile. She did _not _want to feel romantic feelings for Noah Puckerman, because there was no way that could end in anything but disaster. He was uncouth, he was rude, and he was utterly uncultured.

But still, his words were practically throbbing in her bosom far more than anything Finn had ever said. Because Finn's words came with baggage: the knowledge that he was saying those things behind the back of his pregnant girlfriend. He could call her pretty, call her amazing, call her sweet, and it would all come with a catch. That catch was that she was not pretty or amazing or sweet _enough_, and she never would be. But with Noah, there were no strings except the one possibly attached to her breasts, because she knew he desired to at least _see _them at one point.

"Noah, you are positively wonderful when you want to be. And badass, since I remember you requested I use that word to describe you more often."

Noah smiled and said, "See? That's what I mean. Talk about things that _I _like. Like me."

Rachel rolled her eyes but sat down on the couch and patted the spot next to her.

"In all fairness, that's something I'm growing quite fond of, as well."

"Seriously? I can stay?"

"I honestly don't know what I would do if you left. There is nothing that could make me stay in this home alone tonight."

"All right, cool," Noah said, sitting down next to her quickly. "I'll stay until your dads get home. Is that cool?"

Rachel sighed with relief that she hadn't realized she would feel, and she let her body relax into the pillowy cushions beneath and behind her.

"Noah, I honestly can't think of anything more perfect in the entire world." He looked at her expectantly and she rolled her eyes before adding, "Other than your face."

He held his hand up for a high-five, and she begrudgingly obliged.

* * *

Puck woke up briefly that night to hear whispers coming from behind him. Feeling disoriented and forgetting for a second that he was in Rachel's house and not his own bedroom, he laid perfectly still and tried to even out his breathing. If one of those house-robbing fuckers bent towards him, he would snap the guy's neck.

But then he heard what they were saying, and he realized that, _holy shit_, it was Rachel's fathers. He did a quick mental check of his hands and feet, and mentally relaxed once he realized that everything was pretty innocent. Sure, his arm was around Rachel's shoulders and her head was on his chest, but that was hardly something you'd see in the Karma Sutra, or even Maxim. It was far from the most compromising position he'd woken up in.

"Should we wake them up?"

"No, let's not. I'll call his mother and let her know what's going on. I'm sure she won't mind him staying here for a few more hours. I'll drive him home when it gets too late."

"We should buy the boy a thank you gift for keeping our baby girl safe."

"By falling asleep with her on the couch? Hardly. Though I'm thankful he stayed. I don't know _why _Rachel insists on taking on the world by herself. She should have called one of us the second it happened."

"Thank God Officer Dennett got here as quickly as he did."

Puck knew that there would be a lot to explain once Rachel woke up, and he was pretty sure that she would be in a shitty mood since her whole self-worth revolved around her stupid acting and Broadway shit, and she had failed to convince Officer Dennett that everything was cool, but he didn't care. For the moment, he _couldn't _care. He could just lie there and tighten his hold on Rachel. And, okay, maybe plan revenge a little bit, but only because now shit was getting real. It was time to bring out the big guns.

He just had to figure out what those big guns were, first. _Then_, yeah, they would totally be getting brought out.


	12. Quinn and Rachel Star In:

Sorry about the length of time between updates. I lost inspiration for a while there, but hopefully it'll come back once I'm finally done for the year.

* * *

Chapter 12: Quinn and Rachel Star in: The Twilight Zone

Those few hours that Puck had been counting on to solve all his problems for him didn't last very damn long. And that sucked, because then he woke up and saw that Rachel's fathers were just sitting at the kitchen table, waiting. And he was already on his feet, so it wasn't like he could just lie there on the couch and continue to pretend to be asleep. Nope. He was fucked. Totally and completely fucked.

"Um, hi," he said awkwardly because they kept looking at him all expectantly, like they weren't totally sure he could speak English, or something.

"Hello," said the Jewish one, the one that Rachel called "Dad". The black one ("Daddy") just narrowed his eyes a little.

"Um, I guess I should probably head home?" he said hopefully, but Daddy shook his head (and that felt weird to think, but Puck had no idea what the hell else to call him).

"No way. Sit."

Puck sighed and crossed the room, trying his hardest to make it look like he wasn't totally freaked out. He _hated_ parents. Every parent except his mother was like a minefield of questions and angry phone calls home just fucking _waiting_ to happen. It seemed like no one's parents liked him. Only Finn's mom ever sort of gave a shit, but she also didn't really like him at the same time because he was always getting Finn into trouble that wasn't really his fault.

And Rachel's parents probably hated him too. Even though they didn't know he and Rachel were dating (thanks to Rachel being _embarrassed_ of him, or whatever her reason for it was. Puck didn't really remember and he was pretty sure that it was just embarrassment, anyway, no matter _what_ she said), they probably still hated him. People made judgments about his hair and his clothes and the fact that he slouched a lot _long _before he even said anything that would mark him as a total dick.

And when he sat down and sat up straight in his chair, that was because his _back hurt_, not because he wanted Rachel's dads to like him, or anything.

"Now, before you say anything," said Daddy coolly, leaning forward with narrowed eyes. "Just let me be perfectly clear that we don't want any lies. We want to know the whole truth."

"Well, uh, I don't exactly…"

"We mean it," Dad put in. The tough guy act would be not at all scary if they were his age and not the fathers of his girlfriend – his girlfriend who was currently asleep and didn't seem like she'd be waking up anytime soon to save him – and looking at him like they wanted to kill him very slowly. But they weren't his age, and they _were_ Rachel's fathers, and once upon a time it would have been easy to dismiss their scariness by remembering that they were gay, but he'd unfortunately come far enough in terms of intelligence (Rachel would have snorted with laughter there, if she was awake, but he would have ignored it) to know that just because you were gay, it didn't mean you couldn't kick ass. Like Spartans and shit like that.

And it was hard to imagine that the men who had raised Rachel Berry would be anything _but _Spartans.

"I don't really know what she wants me to tell you," he said helplessly, which was totally the wrong thing to say (he could see it in slow motion as soon as he said the words). Dad's face clouded over, and Daddy chuckled darkly.

"You see? I _told _you Rachel was the one getting them into trouble."

Puck's eyebrows shot up with surprise before he could stop them, but neither of Rachel's fathers seemed to notice.

"No, no, no, let's let the boy talk. I'm sure he's not the innocent _you're _convinced he is," Dad replied with a little grin for his husband, or boyfriend, or whatever (Puck wasn't really sure if gay marriage was legal yet or not).

"Um, well, should we wake Rachel up, or…?"

He trailed off when he saw the looks on their faces. And the thing was, he _knew _that look. That was the oh-look-honey-our-daughter-is-dating-a-jackass look. It was very specific.

"You tell us what happened in your own probably-limited vocabulary, and you worry about Rachel later. You've got two Berrys against one. Who are you honestly more afraid of?"

That was Daddy, and it was pretty clear where Rachel got the vocab from. That, and the ability to say sentences really fast without stopping for like two seconds.

Once his brain caught up with what his ears were hearing, Puck looked at them pointedly. This look was more of an are-you-serious-your-daughter-is-fucking-scary look. He'd given it to Santana's parents at least once. And Santana's parents hadn't found it nearly as amusing as Rachel's dads were finding it. They both chuckled quietly, unfortunately not nearly loud enough to reach Rachel on the couch, and leaned forward.

"Seriously, though," Dad said. "You. Talk. Now. I don't care _how _cute you think you are. You're telling us what we need to know. What happened to Rachel tonight? Officer Dennett gave us the run down, the overview. I want the cold, hard _deets_."

"Deets?" Puck asked helplessly.

"The details. The scoop. The skinny," Dad snapped, looking every bit like a balding, Jewish David Caruso for a minute. Daddy put a hand on Dad's chest and pushed him back, shaking his head.

"Okay, sweetie, stop. Noah, we just want to get to the bottom of this. Who's been threatening Rachel at school and why has she not mentioned it before."

Oh. That was sort of easy, he thought. Of course, if Rachel had something else in mind in terms of a story that she was going to tell her parents, it could be potentially fatal to his balls (you know, because they would fall off in about a week if he didn't get action before then). And if _they _didn't like the story that he came up with, if he decided to lie, then his balls would be limited to Rachel access once again, and he really didn't see any option that didn't potentially involve a fatal case of testicle removal.

But he weighed the options carefully in his head and came out with the answer least likely to get him in trouble: the truth. Even if Rachel _was_ pissed that he'd let out her little secret, he thought maybe she'd appreciate it if he told her in a sad voice that he didn't want to lie to her parents or some shit like that. Fuck, she might even _believe _it.

So he looked up from the table and said, "His name is David Karofsky, and he's a scary dude."

"_Now _we're getting somewhere," Daddy said with relief, leaning back in his chair and gesturing to Dad to do the same. "Why's he after our baby?"

"Well, I mean, she's _Berry_, you know?"

No, that wouldn't work. Idiot.

"I'm afraid we have no idea what you're talking about," Dad replied in a tone that so much like his mother's most threatening of 'thin ice' tones that it was seriously creepy.

Okay, so that meant no gay-dads jokes, no even implying that a gay-dads joke maybe could be made (not that he could have even thought of one, with his brain going all mushy like it was. But it wasn't like he was scared or anything. Seriously).

"Um, well…see, the thing is, Rachel's sort of a _target_ at school."

He watched their reactions carefully, receiving shock and horror in response.

"We've never seen any indication," Dad insisted.

"Well she tries to hide it from you, I think, because she doesn't want you to worry, or whatever. She's just all _confident_ and shit, and people aren't usually like that. I think it bugs people, and they…I don't know, they lash out. They try to make her _less _confident to make them feel better about themselves."

Not that he was speaking from experience, or anything.

"That doesn't make sense," Daddy said with a frown. Puck shrugged and tried not to throw in a bitter chuckle for good measure.

"Well, try telling that to them. But don't, seriously, because that would just make it worse. The point is, these kids are, I don't know, making fun of Rachel or whatever. And I guess tonight they were extra pissed about something, because they followed her here. It started out as just harmless pranks…" he trailed off as he thought of the way he'd felt with that slushie trickling down into his underwear. "Well, okay, _mostly _harmless. I'm sure…look, I'm sure that the person who _started_ the pranks didn't realize how _bad_ they were until _he _got the other end of it, all right? And, sure, I probably shouldn't have let her walk home alone, but I honestly thought the problem was over. And I kind of thought she could take care of herself, because it's _Rachel_, and Rachel could take on a whole army and scare them to death with her constant talking and those moon eyes she always does. And she was mad at me anyway, and I was stubborn, and then fucking Karofsky and Linder were trying to scare her or…I don't even know. I don't even want to _think _about what they would have done if they caught her. I don't want to think about any of it. But it's not…it's not my fault! I don't have to look after her like that!"

He was getting defensive, and things were going so far off the rails, and his brain was screaming _get out! Get out! _Like it had been the second he'd planted himself inside Quinn like a flag on the moon and realized that he'd passed the point of no return and was _actually going to bone his best friend's girl_, like that was something that people just _did_, just casually, or whatever. But Mr. and Mr. Berry were just watching him with this weird cool calmness that was so much like Rachel's that it was simultaneously relieving and unnerving, which in itself was simultaneously relieving and unnerving, and he really just didn't have _any _idea how he was supposed to deal.

And so he was just sort of sitting there awkwardly and breathing all heavily like he'd just run a marathon instead of just freaking out a little to the parents of his girlfriend…and wasn't this supposed to be a _casual_ relationship or whatever? Wasn't this supposed to be all about making out and hanging out and enjoying the ride? This wasn't _casual_. This was like, heavy shit. Because there were all these weird implications about what Linder and Karofsky were doing, and Puck wasn't sure how to work through that. Because on the one hand he was just steadfastly like, _no_, _they wouldn't_, but on the other hand he wanted to beat their faces in until they were just a puddle of mush and blood anyway, just for making him think about it.

Because she'd dreamed about _him_ doing that to her, and he wasn't going to let _anyone_ make that dream a reality. Not _anyone_.

"Oh, boy," Daddy sighed heavily. "Okay. Sweetie, could you get him some tea?"

"No, I don't…" Puck started, but Dad was already up and about, and he didn't have the heart to tell him that he didn't like tea.

"Cinnamon apple okay?" Dad asked, and Puck shrugged because, hell, cinnamon apple sounded pretty fucking good.

"Look, Noah," Daddy said, leaning forward with an easy smile on his face. "We're not blaming you for leaving Rachel alone. It's obvious you care about our babygirl, and we know that if you had any idea that things might have gotten out of hand, you would have stepped up and taken her home whether she was mad or not."

And Puck really wasn't sure if that was true or not, and it really freaked him out. He _wanted_ to say that it was true, but what if it wasn't? What if he was just an asshole, just like everybody said? What if Rachel was _wrong_ about him? It was kind of scary, but what if it was _true?_

"Yeah, we know you didn't mean anything," Dad said, like it was physically hurting him to say the words. "We're just shaken, is all. We knew that Rachel wasn't exactly fighting off friendships with a stick, but…"

"We'd hoped that she was at least _invisible_," Daddy agreed.

"We both know what it's like to be ridiculed for something you love," Dad said with a sweet smile in Daddy's direction (_sweet? What the hell, dude_).

"We'd hoped that Rachel wouldn't go through that," Daddy sighed, but he was smiling back.

"Well, uh, if it helps, I know that she didn't want to tell you because she wanted you to think that too. I mean, she knows how proud you are of her, and it's really cool, because you guys are like, really supportive. I see those little notes that you write her in her lunch bag every day, and how sometimes she'll have a post-it stuck on her backpack and she won't notice until we're in first period, and I always thought that was kind of…anyway, my point is that she didn't hide it from you because she was embarrassed or anything. She hid it from you because she totally _likes_ who she is and what you guys give her, and she didn't want you to worry that she didn't."

And he had no idea where the fuck that came from, but he knew it was true. And that was the scariest part of all.

* * *

Rachel was reluctantly dragged from the inky tendrils of sleep by the gentle sensation of someone shaking her awake. She could tell just from the scent and the touch that it was her Daddy. He always smoothed back her hair like that before he shook her, like it was required that he see her entire face before he rouse her into consciousness. She loved that about him.

She suddenly remembered that she was on the couch with Noah, and she bolted upright so quickly that she almost hit her Daddy in the face.

"Rachel!" he exclaimed in the tone he always used when she did something he deemed 'adorable'. "Sweetheart, what are you doing?"

Rachel realized with relief that Noah was sitting at the kitchen table with her Dad, and he was not at all anywhere near her breasts (she wasn't sure how handsy he had gotten in their shared sleep, but she was willing to bet there was nothing PG rated about his dreams).

"Dad, Daddy…Noah. Um…"

She trailed off as she saw the apologetic look that Noah was sending in her direction. It was often hard to read his facial expressions because he was so very set on keeping himself impassive and stonelike, but this was unmistakable. This was, _shit, sorry_.

"We've just been having a little chat with Noah, darling," said Daddy.

Ten minutes passed filled with impassioned pleas from both her fathers, confused silence from Noah, and teary declarations from herself. The general summary of the conversation was rather simple: her fathers wanted her to stay home the next day, possibly for the rest of the week, until Figgins could be coerced into doing something about the bullying problem that he had apparently been ignoring. Noah continued to stress that it would only make things worse, which Rachel was inclined to agree with, albeit with far more words and more colorful (but extremely accurate, if she did say so herself) metaphors. Her fathers were near-hysterical in their insistence that she was their little girl and no one would dare try to hurt her without facing the wrath of the combined Berrys and their lawyers. Rachel was insistent that they wouldn't have actually hurt her, although the frightful expression on her face was indicative of another kind of sentiment entirely, she knew.

And thought it all, Noah was looking at her strangely, as if he had just realized something inescapably important about her; such as the color of her hair or the frequency of her inclusion of knee socks in her wardrobe. She was not so naïve to think that he perhaps realized that there was some inherently wonderful quality about her after all, but he was looking at her with _something_ akin to admiration. He respected her for her refusal to back down, and she was glad. She did not want to be protected. She wanted to be _respected_. She wanted people to understand that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. And, of course, she got a certain thrill of excitement when she thought of being protected by a shining white knight, but she was willing to chalk that up to inexperience.

No, she would not be a damsel. Not anymore. She was going to be like her favorite television and novel heroines; tough, spunky, and capable of taking on even the strongest and creepiest of men.

But for the moment she said, "Noah will protect me," because although she knew that her fathers believed in her, they did not quite trust her to make accurate judgments. And she knew from their expressions that they liked Noah, perhaps despite themselves.

"Uh, yeah," Noah said, completely catching on as she knew he would (he kept insisting as to his lack of mental prowess, but she knew better). "Of course I'll protect her."

Her fathers looked at one another dubiously, but she knew them well enough to know that she would emerge victorious with a few hugs and cheek-kisses. She turned to look at Noah with a brilliant smile, and for the time being she could pretend that nothing bad had happened between them at all.

* * *

After he called his mom and made himself sound all noble and shit (it helped that Rachel's Daddy pulled out a lot of big words about his chivalry and gallantry and whatthefuckever else and spewed them into the phone at a rate that was overwhelming but also sort of awesome because it was all compliments), he got permission to spend the night on Rachel's couch, which was cool and didn't feel nearly as awkward as he assumed it would. And actually, even the whole sexiness level wasn't completely destroyed by the fact that her dads were okay with it. It felt sort of cool to be _accepted_ for once.

Sure, sneaking around was hot. He couldn't even remember how many times he'd crawled out some upstairs window and into a nearby tree to avoid being caught by some chick's parent or husband. But this was _different_. They _wanted_ him there, and they thought he was _cool_.

And, well, shit. _That_ was pretty fucking awesome.

Her dads went up to bed with the warning that they would be reading until midnight, and if Rachel wasn't upstairs and in bed by then, they would have to come down and investigate. And _that_ was cool too, because they were all the way upstairs and he and Rachel _totally could have been having sex_, and they wouldn't have even heard it. Probably. Well, it wasn't like he was going to _actually try_ or anything, but it was still pretty cool to know that he could.

As soon as they were up the stairs and out of sight, Rachel like, _latched_ onto him with her lips and kissed him so hard that he seriously thought about pulling away for oxygen at one point before she did it herself. She was clutching the back of his head, her fingers curled in the hair where his Mohawk met his neck, and that was really sexy. And it was sexy how she was looking at him, and it was sexy how she was smiling at him, and it was sexy that she _wanted_ him there.

And he didn't feel like a loser, and he didn't feel like a failure, and he didn't feel like a jerk. For the first time in forever, he felt like none of those things.

"You're so hot," he said instead, and she smiled because he thought maybe she understood in a way that he could never actually explain. She was fucking crazy, sure, but she totally _got_ him, like without him even needing to _try_ or whatever. He always said the wrong stuff with other girls, because they didn't get how he didn't mean to be a jackass. But Rachel got it. Rachel got it because _she _said stupid shit, too.

"You're quite exceptional looking yourself," she said approvingly, easing onto his lap like she was _made_ for it (and, come on, she _totally_ was). "I regret our fight earlier."

"Yeah. Look, what I said earlier about not caring if you like Finn…that's true. I figure, you know, it's _okay_ if we like other people, because this isn't supposed to be all intense or whatever. And that's fine."

"Exactly. We're both growing young people, and we need to get our affection _somewhere_. I have no illusions as to where this is leading. I'm not expecting you to fall in love with me and take me away to a castle by the sea."

"Or, you know, a tiny house on the outside of town," he said with a slightly uncomfortable laugh.

"Well, or that. I don't have any fantasies as to where this will lead. Because, as I was trying to say at school…"

"Oh, God, please don't tell me I'm not your fantasy again. I _get_ it."

"Listen. I contemplated alternate ways to say this on my walk home, and I think I've formulated a response that will assuage your fears."

"Um…"

"Just let me say this. Don't worry."

And, well, fuck, it was kind of hard to argue when she had her hands on either side of his face and her legs squeezing his on either side and her skirt being all super short and all.

"O…okay."

"What I was trying and failing to get across to you was that _yes, _Finn is my fantasy, but the Finn that _exists_ in my fantasies is not _real_. He was _never real_. Because, you're right, the real Prince Charming, the Man Behind the Curtain, although I realize that I'm combining movie references right now, is really Prince Idiot. Prince Emotionally Unavailable. Prince Better On Paper. I concocted this idea of who I believed Finn should be, and I fell in love with that belief. I fell in love with the belief that he was somehow going to fall madly in love with me and put up with me and all my craziness. But he won't, because that Finn does not exist. You see?"

"Basically you're saying that there are two Finns: imaginary Finn and real Finn, and you were in love with imaginary Finn."

"In the spirit of full disclosure, I must amend that to say 'am'. I _am _in love with imaginary Finn. But then I met you in a social space that did not include the throwing of iced drinks, and then you asked me out, and I accepted mostly because you asked, because I didn't think anyone would. And you _exist_. I don't _need_ to fantasize about you, because you are here, and you are real, and I can _feel _you."

She ran her hands down his arms as if to prove her point and he shivered a little but tried to hide it, because that was totally a sissy thing to do when a chick was touching you. That was actually sort of a chick thing to do when a chick was touching you (here he was sidelined a bit by his disturbingly-recurring Quinn and Rachel sex fantasy before he was called back down to earth by her questioning eyes).

"So you're saying that…I'm not as good as imaginary Finn but I'm better than real Finn?"

"Precisely. Part of growing up is accepting that not everything is going to work out the way you thought it would. And for now, I'm more than happy to concede that I'm enjoying my time with you, as casual as it may be, because you are real. You are reality incarnate. You have rough edges, you can be mean and cruel and unfeeling, but you're _here_, and you _do _feel, as much as you try to pretend that you don't."

Well, that was certainly true. And he supposed that he could understand where she was coming from. Quinn and his kid existed in his mind as a sort of ideal conclusion. But every time he talked to Quinn he was reminded that it _was not _perfect, even a little bit. It was broken, maybe irreparably (fuck those words, and Rachel too, seriously). And Rachel wasn't exactly what he pictured when he thought about perfection, but the way she made him feel when she told him he was a good person was _close enough_.

"I shouldn't have gotten so mad at you," he admitted honestly. It was easier to be here, like this, where no one could see them or hear them. There was no risk of Finn or Quinn or even Artie or Kurt bursting in and making him feel like a little bitch for being all honest or whatever. There was just the two of them, and it was kind of nice even though it made him feel kind of stupid at the same time.

"It's fine," she said quietly, but he shook his head.

"No, it isn't." And it was totally déjà vu, but he didn't feel like thinking about that moment in the bathroom too much. "You didn't deserve it. I knew what this was going into it. I shouldn't have let Quinn get me so pissed. I was all worried about you playing me or some shit that I didn't stop to think about anything else."

She smiled and kissed him again, so he figured it was time to shut up and take whatever she was willing to get.

And that night was the night that Noah Puckerman finally touched Rachel Berry's boobs. Nips and everything.

* * *

Rachel made her hasty retreat into the school building the instant her fathers dropped her off instead of loitering like she usually did. It was a part of their arrangement if they would agree to let her handle the bullying in her own time rather than forcing the principal to take action that would leave her with nothing except perhaps a larger target upon her back. Noah had offered to drive her to school in the morning, but she had insisted (gently, she hoped) that he go home and shower before class. He'd gone reluctantly, and she was so touched by his concern that she almost declared her undying love for him right there. Declaring undying love for people based on whims or fantasies was her problem, however, so she forced herself not to say anything and take everything as it presented itself. Moving slowly. Not in a physical sense, most likely, but at least in an emotional one. There would be no declarations from her concerning Noah. Not anymore.

It was difficult, however, because when he had shown up in front of her house the night before looking every bit the opposite of what a white knight should be, she had been struck by the post-modern realism of it all and had almost succumbed to her fantasies. After all, the bitter anti-hero was the new swashbuckling prince. _Everyone_ knew that.

Anyway, it _hardly_ mattered. Because being back at school was the reality check that she so desperately needed. Any gleaming bit of fantasy she could gather from the night before had been harshly replaced by the knowledge that she was _still _not safe. She needed to find Karofsky (for apparently suspension was a suggestion and not a rule, and she didn't find it _too _hard to believe that he would simply have nothing else to do on a school day again) and she needed to talk him out of pursuing this sadistic little game any further. She had gone over every possible angle of their conversation in the rehearsal room the other day, and she was confident in her assessment that he had been trying to warn her of Linder, who was obviously the far more frightening of the pair.

She just has no idea where to start. Of course, logic suggested the boy's locker room, but she was _hardly_ going to try and get into there without being noticed. No, she would simply go about her day and keep a sharp eye out for him. He was found to show his oily face eventually.

* * *

So the thing was, Puck _completely was not_ stalking Rachel. Not at all. He just sort of changed his route a little throughout the day, but that was just because he wanted to make sure she wasn't being harassed. It was like, bad to his reputation or…something if she was harassed. And, okay, so those times he ended up following her to class? Those times were just because he wanted to go to the second floor bathroom. And the fact that his class was on the first floor was totally _irrelevant_.

And as it turned out, there was _every reason_ to be worried, so he gave his internal doubts a serious slap in the face and laughed at them a little, because Rachel was _totally _being harassed.

But that wasn't the weird part. No, the weird part was the fact that she was being harassed by kids who looked like they were ten minutes out of diapers. Little, teeny freshmen. The kind that Puck had trouble _seeing _as he walked down the hall. They were tossing slushies in Rachel's face and then running away screaming apologies over their shoulders as they went.

It wasn't like this happened _once_, either. This happened three times when Puck just _happened_ to be walking behind her. The first time he started to go forward to comfort Rachel and also beat the shit out of the kid, but Kurt grabbed her and dragged her into the faculty bathroom before Puck could even, like, _process_ what had just happened. And then the second time it happened, Rachel ran away and Puck figured he'd stalk the little bastard instead, but he lost sight of the kid as soon as he rounded a corner. And then every time after that, it got _really_ weird.

Really weird, because _Quinn_ was the one being all helpful and nice and un-Quinnlike. Which was cool, sure, but really confusing. She saw Rachel get slushied for the third time, probably noticed that Rachel was wearing Brittany's gym clothes instead of her backup pair, put two-and-two together, and screamed at the freshman in her best _I'm pregnant, don't fuck with me_ voice. Kudos to her, though, because it was terrifying. Not even _Puck _wanted to get involved with _that_, and he was a badass. So he kind of hung back until Quinn took Rachel to the bathroom, and then he waited outside Rachel's locker, hoping that she would be by herself.

She wasn't, though, so he immediately regretted everything. Because Quinn had her best war face on, and Rachel was chattering away like she was actually _enjoying_ herself, and that combined was enough to make him lose his shit and run away. But he couldn't, because they had already seen him. So fuck.

"Uh, hey," he said when they approached, not really sure what to say. Seriously, though, what the hell _do _you say when your "casual" girlfriend is being helped out with a crisis by the mother of your child. Especially when that girlfriend doesn't know anything about that fetus. Especially when that girlfriend has a crush on the guy who _thinks _he's the father of that fetus. Fuck, it was all too confusing. Puck had just about had enough of it.

"Noah! What are you doing here?" Rachel asked uncomfortably. At least he wasn't the _only _one feeling awkward about the whole Quinn thing.

"I saw what happened," he said. "You need a ride home?"

"She's fine," Quinn answered coldly.

"Quinn gave me some of her old clothing!" Rachel exclaimed, as if this was like, winning the lottery or something.

"Oh, cool. Um, so, do you know why you're getting slushied?"

"I think it has something to do with this _stupid _tradition here," Quinn said thoughtfully. "Something about people throwing slushies at other people because…actually, I really don't know _why_ they throw slushies at people. Do you?"

Puck sighed and said, "Quinn…"

"No, you're right," she said, throwing her hands in the air. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm just feeling a little hormonal today."

She smiled at Rachel, because of course the world was constantly trying to prove to Puck that _yes_, it could _definitely _get more fucking weird than it already was. And Quinn was being all _nice_ to Rachel, and Puck _really _hoped it wasn't because she felt like she was _responsible_ for why he was dating Rachel. He felt guilty enough about pretty much everything in his life. He didn't need more of a reason to.

"Seriously, though," he said, trying to sound serious even though he was scared shitless. "Why are people targeting you? And it's not even, like, hockey kids."

"I don't know," Rachel sighed.

"The last one wet himself when I yelled at him, I think. Not exactly the kind of kids who would be slushying of their own free will," Quinn pointed out. Rachel nodded.

"This is true. One of them looked remarkably like Jacob Ben Israel. He was possibly a relation."

"Shit. This is weird."

"I have to go to class, but…if anything else happens, I have a lot more clothes where those came from. I was going to give them to Coach Sylvester for charity before that whole scandal broke with her burning the clothes in front of homeless people. Now I've just got a bag of them sitting in the rehearsal room. I had to give a lot of stuff up once I moved into Finn's." She sent a pointed look in Puck's direction. Not like it wasn't deserved or anything, but she seemed to like reminding him that it was his fault that her life totally sucked. Whatever. He'd_ offered_ his house, would have probably been a lot easier for her because his mom was like _never _home and wouldn't have even noticed if Quinn moved into the basement or something.

He and Rachel waited until Quinn walked away, and then Rachel looked at him with this totally adorable but also really sad smile. Like she was just _so _fucking excited that Quinn had deemed her worthy to speak to or something. Puck was really freaked out because, seriously, what the hell could it all possibly mean?

So he just didn't say anything. He'd think about it later, once he'd had the time to _really _go over it in his head. Or something.

"I got an idea," he said. "You walk to class, and I'll follow you at a pretty safe distance. Then I'll grab the next guy who tries to slushie you, and I'll beat the shit out of him until he tells me what the hell his deal is."

"That hardly seems like the most intelligent course of action, Noah," Rachel sighed. "Especially considering Principal Figgins is already watching us closely after we – well, I – dispatched of Karofsky so effectively."

"Well, that's true. Can I at least _infer_ that I'll beat him up?"

"It's _imply_, but your effort at improving your vernacular does _not _go unnoticed, Noah. And yes, I believe the implication of violence should be enough in this case. Although your agreeing to be seen with me in public without some sort of bizarre torture being performed has reduced your reputation, I don't believe that the freshmen who have been attempting to degrade me will notice. Your size and considerable bulk will be enough."

"Thanks, babe," Puck said, suddenly remembering why the fuck he was even bothering with this in the first place. Rachel made him feel awesome, and he supposed it was time to start returning the favor. She deserved to feel awesome about herself even though she was certifiably crazy as hell. Sure, she was possibly the most high maintenance chick he'd ever come across, but she was _nice_, and underneath all that crazy competitiveness there was actually a really cool person. And one seriously hot chick.

"I'll head to class," Rachel said, lifting her chin in the air, all totally aware of the fact that she was about to get slushied. The fact made him _super _pissed. Like hardcore, protective boyfriend pissed. It was kind of awesome. He felt like he belonged on a TV show or something.

And that feeling sort of increased by a lot once he was actually _following_ her. And this time it was _way _less creepy because she actually knew about it. Not that he felt weird before or anything. No way. Noah Puckerman didn't feel weird about shit like that. Ever.

Okay, maybe a little. But mostly because he sort of felt like Karofsky, creeping around under cover of darkness and trying to freak out innocent girls (not that Rachel was really innocent, but still). He was already hating this day. Only the promise of getting to beat the shit out of a freshman was keeping him from just _leaving_ like he usually did on days he didn't like.

Although, well, okay, maybe he was getting into it _a little bit_. Not like he was _enjoying_ himself or anything, but he did sort of like the feeling of creeping along and being like a real life _Modern Warfare_ thing (he preferred _Left 4 Dead_, but _Modern Warfare_ was cool too. And way more relevant).

And then he saw him. The kid looked like he was about to piss himself. Sweat-drenched hair, eyes that rivaled Miss Pillsbury's in terms of total hugeness, a red slushy in one hand. He was zoned in on Rachel like a fucking missile. But Rachel didn't see him, of course, because she was fidgeting with whatever she had in her arms. Her general spaciness when walking down the hall used to totally be awesome because he could slushy the hell out of her without even trying. But now it was like, _what the hell_? _Pay attention_. He really fucking hated that he was all _concerned_ or whatever. Especially since he didn't think she was even remotely as concerned as she should have been.

He pushed past her (_probably shouldn't have actually _shoved_ her, asshole_) and punched the freshman in the face.

Fuck yeah. That was fight club training at its best.

"Noah!" Rachel yelled, but Puck wasn't done. He hauled the kid into the closest supply closet and yanked Rachel in after him. Which, in hindsight, was a pretty stupid idea because she was flipping out, and the closet was really small, and when Rachel got into full-on-crazy mode, her hand gestures needed a shitload of room.

"Chill!" he hissed. Rachel chilled.

"You didn't have to punch him," she said calmly. Creepy calm, actually.

"Well, maybe not. But whatever. I told you I'd handle this, and I handled it."

"I'm sorry!" the kid screeched. "They gave me twenty bucks to do it!"

"Who?" Rachel and Puck asked together, leaning forward and looking all threatening. Puck was sort of hoping the kid would wet himself. Who slushies a girl for money? Okay, sure, who slushies a girl at all, but still.

And, hell, he wouldn't blame the kid for being scared. Puck was fucking _jacked_. And even though Rachel dressed like she bought her clothes at the American Girl Doll store sometimes, she had the crazy eyes going on. And no boy in McKinley high hadn't been simultaneously horrified and turned on by that intense crazy at one point. At least, Puck didn't think so.

"I don't know who," the freshman said. Rachel got all soft-looking, and Puck knew she was going to start going easy on him. No way in _Hell _was that going to happen. Maybe this kid didn't know who Karofsky was, but he'd sure as shit know who Noah Puckerman was.

"Bullshit. If you're really too fucking stupid to know who was paying you to slushie _my girlfriend_, you better have at least gotten a description. Come on."

"Um, blonde hair? Thin, tall. I don't know, he was an asshole. Said I could take the twenty bucks or get the shit beat out of me. It was weird. Why even pay us?"

"Linder," Puck sighed. "Fuck."

"Well, this has been very helpful, thank you," Rachel said kindly, pulling Puck out of the room.

"You know what this looks like, right?" Puck pointed out as they emerged into the hallway. Rachel shrugged.

"I understand the implications but I hardly think anyone's going to believe that _I _would stoop to such degrading behaviors."

"Yeah, but it's _me_. If anyone can turn you into…"

"Have you noticed that we both have larger-than-average egos when it comes to our reputations? Only you are attracted to the sullying of yours, while I'm driven to protect the purity of mine."

"Whatever. It still totally looks like we were having sex."

"With a freshman?" Rachel asked with surprising amusement as she gestured to the dazed-looking freshman who was emerging from the closet with a bloody nose.

"Shit, I hope no one thinks that we were having sex with _him_. I don't _do_ devil's three-ways."

"Relax, Noah. Since you are the model of immoral behavior that the faculty warns the rest of us about, I don't think anyone else will even notice. Besides, we have more pressing matters to attend to."

And that was about when Puck realized for _real_ that he actually sort of _liked_ her. Not just in the way that he usually admitted he _liked_ her, like how he could sometimes stand her crazy and at other times she wasn't really all that annoying. But he legit had sort of a crush on her (_not a crush, oh my fucking God, could you think of something better to call it? Fuck_).

So when another kid tried to run up and slushie Rachel, Puck punched the fucker twice as hard.


	13. Afternoon of Fright

Chapter 13: Afternoon of Fright

Several days passed without much incident (other than two more make out sessions and one more foray to second base). Since Noah insisted that he "got this" when it came to the tracking down of Karofsky and Linder during school hours (he promised not to leave school grounds, but she knew that was a bold-faced lie and fully intended to be mad about it later), Rachel was free to go to her classes secure in the knowledge that something was being done to remedy her most current and pressing problem.

So first thing Tuesday morning she slunk into the bathroom as quietly as she was able (even though Noah's approaching of her in the bathroom had been a sweet and touching gesture that had ultimately led them to where they were currently in one another's lives, she still had realized on that occasion that it would be similarly easy for a less-than-desirable figure to follow her) and took her spot in the same stall that she always used. Before even three seconds had passed, she heard the door open. Holding her breath, she briefly considered standing on the toilet bowl so as to not be seen, despite how paranoid and utterly ludicrous that idea was. But then Mercedes began to speak, and Rachel breathed a quiet sigh of relief. She even considered opening the door to greet her, but then remembered that she still was not speaking to them due to their refusal to help her when she called about Karofsky and Linder. Although it was hard to keep it up, because it didn't seem that they were as punished by her silence as she had intended them to be.

"This is getting ridiculous. We should just apologize. It was funny at first, but I tried to ask her about our glee homework and she just walked by like she didn't even see me," Tina said suddenly and coincidentally. Rachel pressed her ear to the cool door of the stall, even though she could already hear everything that was transpiring. "And Santana said that her aunt lives on Rachel's street, and apparently the cops were at Rachel's house that night."

"We can't apologize! You know that girl's just _crazy_ for attention. She's the girl who cried "emergency" instead of wolf."

"Doesn't the boy who cried wolf die at the end?"

"Not the version _my _mom told me. Anyway, whatever. She's fine. No harm done. And she's been scarce, too. The last time I even _saw _her outside glee was a few days ago when I saw her talking to Quinn in the hallway."

"Doesn't that mean she's _not _fine? Quinn probably killed her."

"No, they were talking about slushies. Someone slammed Rachel in the hall that day. I got an update from Jacob's blog."

Rachel briefly felt indignant that Mercedes had been listening in to her conversation with Quinn, but then she remembered where she was presently standing.

"Oh. Poor Rachel. That whole slushie thing is so stupid."

"I know. Lord knows I'm not Miss Diva's biggest fan, but that shit is just _immature_. And it's not like she's some heinous bitch. It would probably be funny if it was _Santana _getting slushied, but…I don't know. Rachel's one of our own, as much as I want to gag her sometimes."

"Yeah. I'd lend her some clothes, but I don't think she could pull this look off," Tina said with a smile.

"I'd lend her some clothes if she had the curves to fill them out. But let's face it. Rachel has a very specific lack of fashion sense that has somehow become its _own _fashion sense. It works for her. Even though it shouldn't work for _anyone_."

Tina sighed and said, "I still feel bad for ignoring her call."

Mercedes shook her head and snapped her purse shut, turning to face Tina with determination.

"I'm telling you, it was nothing."

"But Rachel _never _calls us. Not for anything."

"She calls _me _all the time. Still wants to do a duet. _As if _she could keep up with me. But anyway, Rachel is worse than _me _when it comes to being home alone. She freaks out about every little thing. If you read her myspace blog…"

"You read her myspace blog?"

"I _skim _it. Don't make a big thing out of this. And if you _did _read it, you'd see all these references to being home alone and feeling freaked the hell out about it."

"Oh."

"Exactly. We need to Ferberize her. It's that shit you do with babies, where they cry and you ignore them so they'll get used to sleeping through the night."

"But Rachel isn't a baby."

"No kidding! But she _is _a pain in my ass with all this bitching about people trying to get her or whatever. It's for her own good, really. She'll thank us later."

Rachel leaned against the wall heavily, her mind racing. Was that really what people thought about her? Was she really _that _dramatic about everything? Did people _really _believe that she would make things up like that? That she would stoop to such levels to garner attention for herself? Granted, yes, she had always been a bit fearful of being home alone, but she hardly _complained_ about it. At least not to the extent that Mercedes was detailing. Or did she? Was she really not as self-aware as she believed herself to be? Was there a whole other angle to her personality that she was just not privy to?

She was just starting to feel herself in the throes of an existential crisis when she heard them say Noah's awful nickname.

"Do you think Puck's told her anything yet?" Tina was asking in a quiet voice. Rachel concentrated very hard on not moving. She had an ear for conspiracy, and Tina's voice was all but oozing secrets.

"No, of course not. Look. The whole damn school knows thanks to you and Kurt, but Rachel? No. No way. _No one _is stupid enough to tell her. Not even Puck."

"Hey, stop blaming us! You were the one spilled the beans."

"Yeah, yeah. Okay. But it was too juicy a secret to pass up. And anyway, it was really Santana and Brittany who did most of the damage. I'm just lucky that Finn and Rachel are too oblivious to see what's going on right under their noses."

"Yeah, but if Finn ever finds out, that's going to suck so much. The club will fall apart."

"Which is why Miss Diva can never know. She'll tell Finn in two seconds to have him to herself."

"Yeah, but Puck's her boyfriend now."

"You think she _realizes_ how epically hot that boy is? No. She's too busy mooning over Sweet and Stupid. She'd drop Puck in a second if she knew he was the father."

Rachel nearly gasped before she slapped her hands over her mouth to stop herself. Mercedes and Tina kept talking, but they were leaving the bathroom and soon the door closed behind them. Rachel finally allowed herself to breathe, taking gulping gasps of air and ignoring the fact that the display of it all proved that she was _exactly _as dramatic as Mercedes said she was. There would be time to deal with all of that later.

Puck was the father of Quinn's child. Of course, there had been _signs_, but Rachel had been willing to overlook them in favor of rationality. Namely: why would Quinn sleep with Puck when she was in a relationship with Finn? Why would she sleep with _anyone _when she was the captain of the celibacy club? How could she be such a hypocrite? But this confirmed everything that she didn't want to suspect before, and she was utterly without an idea of what she was supposed to do.

* * *

Puck was feeling like an epic failure, and it was starting to piss him off. One of the things he was always good at was _finding _people. He knew where everyone hung out. He knew every kid according to their stereotype and likelihood of bangability – for the chicks. And that was pretty much _everything_ you could really hope to know about a person. But Karofsky and Linder were getting better at hiding, or he was losing his touch. He'd been looking for them all over town for three days (left school a few times, too. What Rachel didn't know wouldn't hurt her) and not once did he even catch a whiff of that douche scent.

He really didn't know how to tell Rachel, so he sort of avoided her for the rest of the day, even though he made sure that she was all right and shit. But in a way so that he didn't actually have to _talk _to her. It was sort of stupid that he was being such a chick about it, but he couldn't actually force himself to start a conversation because he didn't want her to realize that he was shitty at one of the only things he was supposed to be good at. He caught her eye once, and just sort of smiled and waved before turning and booking it down the hall. And then he went to the bathroom. But it wasn't because he was _hiding_. He just had to go. And okay, so maybe he didn't actually _go _to the bathroom, but that was just because he forgot.

Meanwhile, he kept an eye and ear out for any news about Karofsky and Linder. He heard two idiot hockey players talking about Karofsky's suspension, but it was nothing special. Just them bitching about how they couldn't win without him. Like that even _mattered_.

_Fucking hockey_.

He was walking to his locker at the end of the day trying to figure out how he was going to afford paying for Quinn's medical bills on the sly (she _said_ she didn't want him to, but she also said that Finn was useless, so he was pretty sure that was also like saying that she needed his help), and he was so deep in his freaking out that he didn't notice Rachel was standing at his locker until he was practically standing on top of her.

"Oh. Hey," he said lamely, trying to look like he wasn't thinking about anything (he was pretty sure that she still couldn't read his mind, but there was no reason to take the chance).

"Hi," she said darkly, adding another point to the 'Rachel _can _read minds' side of the mental tally.

"So what's up?"

"I've been considering this conversation all day, and the best ways to approach it, and I've decided that my desire for continuing honesty in our relationship must drive me to approach the subject head on."

"Okay." He knew that when chicks were mad (including his mom), the best thing to do was just let them talk. Most of the time, they'd talk so much that they'd actually defend him _for _him, once they got around to rationalizing his actions or whatever. Then they'd forget that he did anything wrong. And Rachel was much more likely to talk herself in circles than Santana. Santana would just stand there with her arms crossed and deny sex until he figured out what he did wrong on his own. Rachel would hold two sides of the conversation by herself, maybe even throwing in a third party for good measure. Easiest fights ever.

"I was in the bathroom earlier today when I overheard a bit of gossip that suggested you were the father of Quinn's child."

Puck's heart stopped, his throat closed, and he felt like he had just eaten three days worth of Mexican food and then was locked somewhere with no access to a bathroom.

"What?" he asked numbly, still sort of hoping for that circle talking thing.

"Do you _really _require further clarification, Noah? Are you the father of Quinn's child, or aren't you. And I'd like to remind you here that I take great pride in our relationship so far being one built on honesty and not lies."

She was looking at him with this weird, sad sort of look. It was like how she used to look at him after he'd slushied her in the face. That wounded deer look. So even though his brain and her words were telling him to be honest, he lied his ass off.

"Yeah, right. Like she'd let me anywhere _near_ her goods."

"I see. So where do you think this rumor started?"

With Mercedes and her goddamn big mouth.

"I don't know. Jealous bitches being jealous bitches?"

"The derogatory elements of your vocabulary are, as always, charming," Rachel said with some level of sneer (Quinn level, actually, which was a little less than Santana level, but still impressive) before turning and walking away. More like _stomping_, really. And Puck knew he was totally fucked. But for some reason, he still couldn't bring himself to tell her the truth.

* * *

Rachel was furious. One of the things she prided herself on was being able to tell when people were lying. She had very fine senses, especially when it came to the moods of other people as directly related to her, and it was clear to her from the moment that she asked her question that Noah was lying. His facial reaction to the words themselves were sufficient, but his tone gave him even further away.

She believed Mercedes and Tina's conversation to hold the truth. She believed that he was without a doubt the father of Quinn's child. What she had hoped to gain from the conversation was some sort of confirmation that _Noah _didn't know he was the father. But there was no question in her mind anymore. Noah _knew_. He was the father, and he _knew_.

Fury. It was all that she could feel. She had known from the beginning that she and Noah had never been fated to last. She still reserved most of her heart's capacity for Finn. But she had so far been in what she believed to be a healthy and somewhat normal high school relationship; one that she could create endless soundbytes about when talking to countless interviewers in the future. And in the present, she was actually enjoying herself quite a bit. Noah was sweet when he wanted to be, and he had a way of making her feel more self confident than the combined efforts of her fathers ever had. There was something quite different about being high in the esteem of a peer, and she loved it.

But because he had so blatantly and knowingly lied to her, she was uncertain that she could continue feeling the same amount of satisfaction. So she did the only thing she could think of to do; she went to Miss Pillsbury for guidance.

She was well aware, of course, that Miss Pillsbury found her annoying. And it wasn't as if the advice dispensed from the woman was anything she couldn't find on Yahoo Answers, but she was feeling the need to communicate her grievances to a real _person_. One who might possibly understand at least a little. And one who would never tell her to stop being so dramatic, if only because she wasn't allowed to.

She sat down across from Miss Pillsbury without first knocking on the propped-open door, because she knew from experience that she had to get going right away if she was going to avoid being asked to come back later due to a flimsy excuse.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but you appear to be cleaning the same spot on your desk that you were cleaning when I passed by here before second period, so I'm going to jump to the conclusion that you're not busy."

"Oh. Rachel. I'm surprised to see you here."

"I know. One might assume that I'd outgrown the need for guidance given that I'm dating Noah Puckerman and am thusly the most popular girl in school, but unfortunately the social hierarchy of McKinley High is not nearly as simple as you'd think. But I'm not here to talk to you about my lack of social prowess. I'm here to talk to you about a hypothetical situation that I want your opinion on. It's for, uh, a history project."

"Oh?"

"Yes. We're supposed to investigate aspects of our own culture as if we were anthropologists from the future trying to explain our ways to a future society. I've chosen to discuss teenage pregnancy, due to the fact that it's such a topical concern for my generation."

"I see."

"And my question is, as a professional, do you think that if a girl is dating a boy who turns out to be the secret father of a baby of said girl's classmate, and said girl approaches said boy to ask about said baby and he lies about it, does she have a right to be mad and instigate an argument, or is it none of her business?"

"I'm…I'm sorry, Rachel, but I'm a little confused about what you're asking. You want to know if this hypothetical girl is entitled to feel betrayed by the lie?"

"Yes."

"Well, of course. Lying is bad. Especially when you're in a relationship with someone. Even if that relationship is, say, ten years past its expiration date and a miserable hell-hole from which there appears to be no escape. You still can't _lie_ to her. That would be wrong. And any other potential girlfriends will just have to deal with that fact until he can man up…I'm sorry. I'm getting all my pronouns mixed up. What was the question again?"

* * *

Rachel totally _knew_. It was like she was psychic or something. Actually, he was pretty sure she _was _psychic, because only someone with psychic abilities would take the word of Mercedes to be _truth_. There was no other explanation. And, okay, sure, so in this case Mercedes was telling the truth, but was it _so _wrong for Puck to feel a little offended that Rachel believed a chick who couldn't give two shits about her over her own boyfriend? So they were in a "casual" relationship or whatever, and so she still liked Finn and he was still clinging to the hope that one day Quinn would transform into someone who thought he was worthy of being a dad. _Whatever_. They were still dating, and she _still _should have believed him over Mercedes.

But Puck, master of self-manipulation, even _he _knew that he wasn't really mad about that. And he wasn't really even mad at _Rachel_. He was mad at himself for being such an asshole. He was mad at himself for fucking Quinn and her life up. He was mad at himself for lying to Rachel about it, for straight up _lying _to her. Withholding the truth was one thing. _She _did it all the time. But lying to her about something so big was something else entirely. And even though Rachel was sort of the most awesome liar in the history of ever, he had to admit she probably wouldn't feel too pumped about this one being leveled her way.

But what the hell was he supposed to do? For some reason (brain damage maybe, or the fact that she liked everyone), Rachel thought he was special. And not in a retarded way like how everyone else did. She thought he was special like it was a _good _thing. Like the fact that he was sort of an asshole was okay because he had other qualities to make up for it. Or something. Whatever. The point was that he had really been hoping to hide it from her. Like maybe if she never figured out, he could fool himself into thinking that he was as good a person as she thought he was.

And, okay, so she _knew_. So there was no way he was getting out of it. That meant that he _should _tell her, right? Because maybe she would think he was an _all right _person if she thought that he was telling her because he wanted to do the right thing and not because she already knew about it. He thought that made sense, and he tried to find her in one of her three billion club meetings, but for some reason she was just like, _invisible_. Like her creepy Rachel powers actually extended to invisibility. Or maybe she was just purposely avoiding him. Which was weird because she'd never managed to be so sneaky before. Like, you'd think she'd want to escape from him when he was throwing slushies in her face, not when he sort of lied to her about something that wasn't even that big of a deal anyway (okay, so it _was_ kind of a big deal).

Finally, after getting glared out of the Renaissance Club meeting, he resorted to asking the _last _person he ever thought he'd ask about Rachel's whereabouts.

He asked _Quinn_.

But first, he figured that he had to preface it with something. Because he didn't know _much_ about what chicks thought, but he _did_ know that Quinn hated the fact that Finn was all gaga for Rachel when she was so _not _Quinn that it was weird that anyone found her hot (but she totally was). It was annoying, and he wished that more chicks could be like guys and just not give a shit about that (he pretended for a second that he didn't feel the exact same way about Finn, because that _totally _wasn't the same thing).

"Hey, Quinn. How's your bump doing today?"

"The _baby _is doing fine, Puck."

"There might be a problem, and I don't want you to freak out."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Okay. So I sort of accidentally told Mercedes that the thing in your stomach is half mine."

"You _what_?"

"I was stressed, all right? And she was just sort of _there_. And she was a total bitch about it anyway and told me to back off, like I'm for some reason a horrible person to want to be involved even though _you_ cheated on Finn. Ugh. Whatever. Anyway, so Mercedes told…uh, everyone. Except Finn, because they all took your side and don't want to see you hurt. And they probably don't want to give Rachel the satisfaction. But that's sort of the issue, because Rachel overheard Tina and Mercedes talking about it, and she asked me if they were telling the truth, and I said no but she totally did _not _believe me, and now I'm thinking I should have told her the truth because now she might tell Finn just out of spite or whatever, so I was wondering if you'd seen her."

And what the fuck? As soon as he stopped talking and paused to take a breath for the first time in like three minutes, he realized that speech was _all _Rachel. And so he finally figured out what it felt like to be stressed out _all the damn time_, because that was obviously why Rachel was such an annoying chatterbox. Puck was feeling pretty happy with his decision to generally not care about anything except the stuff that he actually cared about (a very small number of things).

"First of all, you're lucky I only threw up twice today and am therefore in a halfway decent mood, otherwise I would smother you with my excess fat. Secondly, you're a complete idiot and I can't even imagine how stupid this baby is going to be. Third, I hate you."

"Awesome, but that doesn't answer any of my questions."

"That's because I have no _idea _where Rachel is. Probably telling Finn _right now_. So I guess that means I should go back to his house and pack because _that's where I live now_, and your big mouth probably just got me thrown out."

"Wait, hold on. I don't think Rachel would tell him right away. She's got to go home and, you know, think about it twelve thousand times and make charts and sing songs and shit. She can't decide what she wants for lunch without forming a voting committee. She definitely won't do this without at least polling the entire internet."

"Okay, that's a pretty good point." Quinn relaxed long enough to try and remember when she last saw Rachel, then shrugged. "I don't know. I saw her heading out the doors like twenty minutes ago. Maybe she's _walking_ home."

"Shit. She shouldn't be doing that. Karofsky and Linder have it out for her."

"Ugh, those creeps? Does she _know_ they're after her?"

"Yeah."

"Well then she's probably _not _walking home. Rachel Berry is many negative and unflattering things, but she is _not _stupid."

* * *

Rachel, of course, was not stupid. However, she was young. And she was eager to get home after having had an emotionally taxing day, and the prospect of a confrontation with Noah was too draining to bear. So she headed home on foot in the hopes that she could call her fathers and one of them would be able to pick her up once she was already on her way. It was only when she was halfway home that she was able to contact _either _of them, and they were both so busy at their respective places of work that they were unable to get her until at least an hour later.

So, to recap, she still didn't have to confront Noah or listen to his weak protestations and excuses which would likely be filled with self-serving self-deluding bullshit which would only make her sad. She also didn't have to suffer through a painfully awkward ride home, which meant that she would not break out with anxiety pimples like she was expecting to after the day she had been through. On the downside, she once again found herself wandering the streets of Lima at night. Which was really not a very bad thing on its own, but considering how well her _last _sojourn had gone several days earlier, she wasn't feeling too confident about her chances of getting home without some sort of incident. She had her phone, however, and she had the rather clever (in her opinion) notion that she would call home and allow her answering machine to record a conversation (in which she would intelligently force the perpetrators to reveal their motives and such through the use of leading questions) if such a confrontation was to take place.

It was strange, then, that she didn't feel safer. She was walking at a brisk pace, but even _that _didn't seem fast enough. It was only the love of her custom designed ballet flats that was keeping her from running headlong down the street, pausing only under streetlights to take a breath. She concentrated on walking like she _wasn't_ scared. Like she _didn't _expect anything. She concentrated on trying not to feel anything at all.

Keeping her phone secure in her skirt pocket (she usually hated skirts with pockets, but it served a purpose on this particular occasion,) she had one hand wrapped around it, prepared to hit 'send' if necessary. Although usually on nights when she walked home alone she hoped for a speedy walk and a quick arrival at her house, this time she found herself wishing that the walk would last forever. There was no telling who was waiting for her in the shadows around her front shrubs.

And with _that _less-than-inspiring thought, she squared her shoulders and headed on down the street, praying to whatever deity actually existed that Karofsky and Linder had somehow found other ways to entertain themselves.

Her phone rang suddenly, startling her out of her fearful reverie. She sighed and dug it from her pocket with a frantic look around into the surrounding area. She could hardly make out anything in the waning light, but she didn't see any movement in the front yards before and behind her. She again cursed the fact that her neighborhood and the surrounding areas were filled with adults who worked until five or six and very few children, and took a distracted look at her phone. When she saw that it was Noah calling, she inwardly sighed with trepidation, but she would have talked to _anyone_ to avoid the uneasy silence that was surrounding her. So she squared her shoulders again, but in a more mental fashion, and put the phone resolutely to her ear.

"Look," Noah said when she firmly said hello (in a tone, she was sure, that made clear her disdain for all the things he chose to be), "I know you're pissed."

"Correct."

"And I know you think I'm probably a shitty person."

"Less correct, but still fairly near to it."

"Really? Well, uh, that's good I guess. But still. Just hear me out."

"You have thirty seconds before I hang up the phone, Noah."

"Okay. Thirty seconds. I can do that. So…look, Rachel, I'm not really good with this whole talking about my feelings thing, but I know you want me to. So I'm going to try. And, you know, I think that says something on its own. I usually don't _try _for chicks. Chicks try for _me_. I try to get ass, _they _try to get ass, and it works out. But with you, it's different. Because you make me want to try and be a better person. For the first time in my life, I have a girl who _likes _me, and doesn't _want _to change me, and for some reason that's making me want to make the changes all on my own. And I haven't figured out yet if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but I think it might be good. Because I think I'm awesome, but there's some work that needs to be done. And you make me want to do be even more awesome than I already am. Does that make any sense? Or are you about to hang up and tell me I'm a complete loser?"

Part of Rachel _wanted_ to hang up. If it had been any other boy who constructed the impromptu speech she'd just heard, she probably would have thrown the phone into a ditch in her anger. But Noah was different, because everything he'd said was just blatantly honest. He hadn't addressed the issue of the paternity of Quinn's child, but he didn't necessarily _need_ to. Because their relationship wasn't _just _about Quinn. Not anymore. And he had reminded her in that moment of all the things that she liked and didn't want to lose about him.

"Noah," she sighed, completely unsure as to how she was going to continue. And that was a big deal for her. She was used to having everything organized and planned out to the _letter_. She had already written acceptance speeches for her first Oscar, Tony, Emmy, and Grammy. She had already written her wedding vows (complete with Mad Libs-esque fill-in-the-blanks). She was the kind of girl who knew every possible thing that could happen years before it had _actually _happened (she had dreamed of saying "you can kiss me if you want to" since she was six years old, and getting to use it on Finn was a milestone of its own). But with Noah, it was different, because she hadn't anticipated Noah at all.

Oh, she had _thought_ about it initially. He was the rugged and untamed football player and she was the innocent young ingénue. Her first day freshman year had been spent choosing prospective leading men, and he was in second place until that first slushee hit her face. She had then vehemently crossed him off of her mental list with the _brightest_ red pen her mind could envision, and he had never crossed her mind again. But the unexpectedness of their recent union had thrown her for a very serious figurative loop. She was not used to doing things so unplanned and spontaneous as she had been.

And this new development wasn't helping her motion sick feeling. She took the phone away from her ear for a few moments and paused. She counted studiously to five, breathing deeply with each number. Then she put the phone back to her ear and forced herself to focus. If she was ever going to be a legitimate actress, there were probably going to be situations in which she would need to improvise. She would just have to treat this Noah debacle as one such situation.

So she steeled herself again and said, "Noah, I can't tell you that I'm not angry. I _am _angry. I'm enraged that you slept with Quinn and I'm furious that you lied to me about it. But it's not as if I don't _understand_. I'm finding being _completely_ angry with you difficult for that reason. I'm just…I've never dealt with _anything_ like this, Noah. You can't blame me for being a little confused."

"Right, of course not. Yeah. You should totally be confused. But just…I mean, you're not gonna _tell _him, right? Because that would really suck."

"Yeah," Rachel sighed, looking down at her feet. "That really would."

Her stance on the issue was so fluid, it was utterly impossible for her to discern what she should do. On the one hand, she didn't want Finn to hate Quinn and Noah, because that would divide the group and sectionals was so rapidly approaching. On the other hand, this new information brought Finn so close within her reach that it was difficult to resist the temptation that it presented.

But she had meant what she said to Noah days earlier about how Finn was not a realistic goal or expectation to have. And although she felt the strong draw to take her chances and try for every opportunity that she could to acquire her fantasy dream man, the rational part of her brain insisted that she would _never _have him. At least not how she imagined.

Finally she answered, "I won't tell him, Noah. But I think that somebody should. I may have admitted defeat when it comes to my romantic pursuit of Finn, but that doesn't mean I don't count him as a friend. And I would hate to see his life so painfully altered by this child. _Your _child."

"I know. I mean, fuck, it's been bugging me from the beginning. But Quinn doesn't want anything to do with me, and she keeps saying she's giving the kid up for adoption anyway. And she's all into Finn, and she _says _she loves him, so I don't want to fuck that up. I've fucked with her life enough already. I can't fuck it up more just because _I feel bad_."

"I've never dealt with such a confusing social situation before. There's no _right _answer. How is that possible? How is it possible that there is no one right thing to do? Each argument, each _side_, I can see clearly. But then I think about the other side, and…"

"Yeah. I know. It sucks."

"It truly does, Noah," Rachel sighed. She paused for a moment, trying to think of the words to say to assure Noah that his secret was safe, at least with her. But the brief moment of silence allowed her to hear what she had not been able to hear so far.

Footsteps. _Running_ footsteps. Right behind her.

She turned just in time to divert most of the intended blow away from the back of her head. The boy's fist instead clipped her cheekbone hard enough to water her eyes but clumsy enough that she was able to stay on her feet with very little trouble.

"Help!" she screamed (a reflex), but the boy's next blow knocked the phone out of her hands and sent it flying across the street and into an abandoned overgrown lot. Rachel grabbed her tote bag by its strap and swung out. Swinging in the direction of the assailant, she was able to see for the first time that it was Mark Linder. And his eyes were filled with rage unlike anything Rachel had ever seen. Noah had clearly been right to assess that something was not quite right in Mark Linder's mind. And now _she _was facing him on her own.

Her bag connected with the side of Linder's face, and the not-inconsiderable weight of her textbooks and Judy Garland's biography (hardcover edition) produced a satisfying thunk against his skull. But Linder was not easily deterred, and he charged at her with such reckless abandon that she tried to run instead of effectively dodging him. He tackled her to the ground where they rolled into the abandoned lot and crushed Rachel's cell phone with their combined weight.

She screamed again, but Linder punched her with so much force that she was stunned into silence for a few moments.

"You turn my stomach, Berry," Linder hissed, so close to her ear that she could feel his hot breath and could smell whatever rancid combination of foods he had eaten for lunch. "You think you're in control of everything. That the world just _bows_ to you. There is _nothing_ I hate more than someone who thinks they're shit when they're _not_. You're _nothing_. Look around. No one cares about you. No one gives a shit that you're here, alone, with me. If they did, someone would be here right now. Someone would have cared enough to _save_ you."

Rachel raised her chin as much as was possible with his considerable bulk on top of her, and she set her expression into her _very _best sneer of scorn.

"Fuck you," she spat. She did not usually curse, although it wasn't from some ridiculous belief that cursing was wrong. On the contrary, she used the misguided beliefs of others to allow her for the most impact. When she swore once in a very long while, people reacted much more strongly and humorously than they would if she were to curse with every breath like Noah.

And, to no surprise at all, it worked on Linder too. He jolted back in a way he probably thought comical, a look of mock horror plastering onto his doughy face. Just as she was hoping. She used his momentarily lax grip on her shoulders to swing her arm again, still clutching the tote strap, and bring the books crashing into his side of his head. This time, she put all her strength behind it. And as a result, Linder was knocked to the side. It was not enough to render him unconscious, but it _was _enough to free Rachel's leg for kicking purposes, and she pulled her knees to her chest and then expelled them. Her workout regimen, it seemed, was good for more than well-toned calves. Her feet slammed into his chest, and he was finally off her.

She scrambled to her feet and got only a few steps before his hand grabbed her ankle. For some reason, she had not been expecting that and she fell to the ground, the side of her head colliding with a protruding rock on the way down. She was again stunned, but her willpower won out. She knew that she could not allow him to get the upper hand for even a second. She did not know for sure what he would do, but she had heard rumors. And she would _not_ allow Mark Linder to rape her.

She kicked back with her other foot, equal parts disgusted and elated when she felt it connect with his face. And even though his grip loosened enough for her to scramble away, she kicked once more for good measure before she actually ran.

Running was easy, even with her dizziness threatening to take over and her ballet flats constantly at war with her feet. It was the planning that was the problem. She knew that she couldn't go back to her house. He would find her there, and in his current enraged state she didn't find it hard to imagine him breaking a window and climbing in after her. So she knew that she needed to find someone who was home, even though every nerve in her body was screaming out for sleep. She was bleeding, too, and she wasn't sure how to feel about that, so she kept ignoring the way it sent chills down her spine every time the rivulet of blood inched another bit down her skin.

She knew she had taken a wrong turn somewhere, but she couldn't make herself care about it. Because at the end of the street, there was a light on in one of the houses. And although it could have easily been someone trying to thwart burglars by leaving a light on when no one was home, she decidedly kept hope alive. Putting on a burst of speed that she didn't know was in her, she sprinted to the house in question and slammed against the door with all her might. _That _part was an accident. But it worked, because she heard someone inside shout with surprise.

"Help me!" she screamed, slamming her fist against the door with all the strength she could muster (which wasn't much, given her physical state).

Before more than three seconds had passed, a middle-aged woman ran to the door and flung it open, a baseball bat held over her shoulder. She looked around outside, craning her neck past Rachel to see if there was anyone behind her.

"Please let me in. We have to call the police. I was just attacked down the street near the old abandoned lot. I overpowered him but…he's probably still out there. Please, I just need to come in and hide. There's no one home at my house, and I'm scared."

"You're bleeding," the woman said, pulling Rachel into the house and closing the door behind him. "Who did this to you?"

"His name is Mark Linder, and he's a foul delinquent."

The woman locked the door behind them and turned off the hall light, bathing them in darkness. Rachel jumped when she felt the hand on her shoulder, but she took comfort in it anyway.

"Okay. Here's what we're going to do. We're going to grab my keys from the den, and then we're going to get into my car, and we're going to drive you to the hospital. On the way, we can call the police."

Rachel exhaled with relief. Finally, someone calm and rational to help her through her problems. She reveled in the steely, level quality of the woman's tone. And for the first time all day, she truly believed that everything was going to be all right.

* * *

Puck was in a panic. And Puck didn't get in a panic. Ever. But this was different. Rachel was in actual _serious_ trouble, and he had no idea what the fuck to do about it. Slushies was one thing, but he didn't think Linder was going to hunt her down and slushie her. And he didn't think that the scream he heard before her phone got turned off was because of frozen ice. He didn't _want_ to think about it, but he couldn't get Rachel's dream out of his mind. The dream where he had raped her on the football field in front of legions of screaming fans. And all he could think was that if Linder even _touched_ her, he'd kill him. He'd kill him and deal with the consequences later. He wouldn't even _care _about the consequences. Nobody touched Rachel. Nobody _ever_.

And then he saw it. Her bag in the middle of the road under a streetlight. He slammed on his breaks and found himself unable to move for a minute. It was just _sitting _there. And Rachel would never just drop her stuff if she could help it. She cared about school and shit too much.

Finally he forced himself to get out of his truck and walk over to where her bag was. And it was all dirty and there was fucking blood on it, and it was just so _wrong_. Because Rachel would die before she let her shit get dirty, and that was the scariest thought he'd ever had in his life.

He picked it up and looked around. Everything was so dark and quiet. He could imagine way too clearly Rachel's body just lying somewhere in one of the shadows near the road. Maybe three feet away. Maybe just out of his line of sight.

"Rachel?" he yelled, but that didn't do anything to make him feel better. Especially since she didn't answer. _No one_ answered. And suddenly Puck felt really afraid for probably the first time in his life. Even more afraid than when Finn told him Quinn was pregnant. Even more afraid than when his dad walked out. He wasn't supposed to be dealing with this shit. He was just a kid, dammit.

But he started looking for Rachel anyway. And he wasn't going to leave until he found her.


	14. Rachel Berry is Better Than That,

This wasn't originally supposed to be the ending. I had planned a second story arc, one that would have (I realized recently) been far less interesting than this first one. Seeing as how that is my least favorite experience when reading fanfiction, I decided to bring it to a close while it's still fresh. I never even expected it to be this long, truthfully. The idea came to me as a five part story, but the encouragement of you lovely reviewers gave me more inspiration than five chapters could adequately hold. Thank you so much for reading, and I appreciate you sticking with this story until the end.

* * *

**Chapter 14** - Rachel Berry Is Better Than That, Lifetime

The thing about Puck was that he could keep his cool in a heat wave. That was sort of his _thing_. Well, one of them. There were also cougars and football and beating up mouth breathers, but mostly he was proud of the fact that he didn't freak out about _anything_. But ever since he started dating Rachel, that was getting harder and harder to _maintain_. Because dating Rachel meant pleasing Rachel, and pleasing Rachel meant doing really weird things and doing them so well that she wouldn't hate him for random reasons later. But even that was okay, because he could tell himself and anyone who asked that he was just doing it to get some tail. Even though he knew that he actually sort of liked her, and maybe the pressure was worth it.

But this was different.

This was flat out freaking out. Not because he wanted to get laid, not because he thought it might make Rachel happy if he looked like he cared about shit, but because Rachel could legitimately be in a whole shitload of trouble. No, scratch that, she was almost _definitely _in a whole shitload of trouble, and he couldn't fucking find her anywhere.

He started knocking on peoples' doors, but that always went bad because he'd be saying things like, "how do you not notice a girl screaming for help outside? What the fuck is wrong with you?" and that always got out of hand and he really didn't need anyone else to call the police on him since he was pretty sure they had better things to do.

Plus, he called the police, but they knew his voice and kept telling him that he was full of shit, which sucked, because he finally had to understand that whole Boy Who Cried Wolf story, only in this case it was Jackass Who Cried Emergency.

They promised to send someone down to him when they could spare the manpower, but they were already stretched pretty thin, which wasn't comforting at all, because he started wondering if like, they found her _body _or some shit and were doing all that crime scene stuff and _that _was why they were all understaffed and shit. And that was making him really nervous, because he always sort of had an overactive imagination but _especially _since dating Rachel since she was way into hypothetical situations about absolutely everything imaginable.

And he knew that it was probably the wrong thing to do, but he called Quinn anyway. Because while Rachel was all buzzing energy and constant action, Quinn was calm and just bitchy enough to make him angry so he'd want to be calm to prove to her that he could be. She would tell him exactly what to do. She would tell him he was stupid for overlooking some crucial detail or whatever. He needed that. Because Quinn was possibly even more of a brick wall made of stone cold ice than he was (but he'd never admit that. Ever. Not to anyone).

"What?" she snapped (finally, after like a million and a half rings), her voice loud like she was putting her mouth right up against the speaker or something. If he wasn't so fucking terrified (and he was too damn scared to even try and toughen up his internal monologue. _That _was how bad it was) he would have made some comment about it. Something about nagging or…whatever.

"Quinn, it's me. Something fucked up happened with Rachel.

"You sound serious. Is this actually _serious, _or is she rubbing off on you with her craziness? Please tell me she's just rubbing off on you."

"No! This is actually serious! She was walking home, and we were on the phone, and then something happened and I heard her screaming, so I started driving down her route and I saw her bag on the ground, but there's no one around. There's blood and shit, too, but…I don't know where she is. I don't know what she wants me to do. I've called the police, but they're not taking me seriously. Should I call them again, or just keep looking for her? Or start calling the other glee kids? What the fuck am I supposed to do about this?"

"Of course you call the police! Puckerman, you hang up the phone with me this instant and call the police. Tell them _everything_. When you finish talking to them, you call me right back. I _mean_ it."

Puck wasn't exactly the kind of person who liked being ordered around. Authority was like, the last thing he needed in his life. He was the kind of person who sort of went around defying authority for really shitty reasons. That was probably why parents and teachers and old people all hated him. He was supposed to think that they were right all the time, but he didn't. He thought that people got stupid as they got older, and they got stupid as they got more power over more people. But hearing Quinn tell him what to do in that Sue Sylvester tone of hers really snapped things into focus. And he hung up the phone having a much better idea of what to do.

Except, it didn't actually make him feel any less like throwing up or beating the shit out of any guy with a decent resemblance to Karofsky or Linder. And it didn't make him feel _that _much less lost, like he was in a town full of crazy people and trying to get them all to stop doing crazy shit. And it didn't make him any less worried for Rachel, because even though Rachel was the craziest of them all and he would trust her to take care of herself any other day, he still couldn't shake the feeling that maybe this was the one time she actually _needed_ him. And maybe he let her down just like he let down everybody else.

So maybe his fingers were shaking so bad that it took him three tries to dial nine-one-one. So what?

* * *

Rachel was crying as they sat in the waiting room. Big, gulping sobs as she clutched her brave savior's shirt and wept about her ordeal to anyone who would listen. Due to the irrepressible volume of her voice, her audience spanned the entire waiting room and the nurse's station. But honestly, Rachel did not _need _to cry. She was really too tired to put any effort into it at all. She was only crying because she didn't want to answer any more questions.

The nurse had been so nice when she wandered over in her rather adorable scrubs (Rachel was never a fan of _Garfield_, but she appreciated the whimsy behind putting a cartoon character on clothing worn by people who dealt mostly in blood and vomit). Rachel really tried her best to answer all the questions that she could. But the nurse had also been wildly impatient, and resisted Rachel's attempts to tell the whole story. To really _rehash_ the week's events so that the nurse (and Rachel's savior) could really understand the trauma that she had undergone. She did not want the impression to get out that this was an isolated incident. She wanted them to know that this was something that needed to _stop _because it had been going on for far too long.

She also maybe wanted them to know that her attack wasn't just a consequence of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She wanted to let them know that there was every possibility that her nightmare wasn't over.

But the nurse was not interested in any of that. She wanted to know things that Rachel didn't know the answer to, like her mother's medical history, or her father's medical history, or whether she was allergic to a long list of random and difficult to pronounce medications. So Rachel had strategically burst into tears. When her tears spurred the nurse to see if they could find Rachel a room a little quicker, Rachel had cried harder. And had cried for fifteen more minutes, just to make sure that the nurse wouldn't be coming back.

Taking another surreptitious peak at the nurse's station, Rachel didn't see her anywhere nearby. Either it was taking quite a while to get that room, or the nurse was staying away out of annoyance Which was just as well, really. Rachel didn't want a room anyway. She _wanted _to go to sleep in her own bed, possibly with a baseball bat clutched in her arms, just in case. And if the police force could be bothered to spare a few men to sit parked outside her house in case of emergency, then that certainly would not _hinder_ her sleeping patterns.

She made sure to remember to _slowly _curb her crying, so as not to draw a lot of suspicion to herself. She gradually sat up straighter in her chair, turned her sobs to sniffles to hiccups, and finally dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a tissue.

Turning to face her savior (she still didn't know the woman's name, and wasn't entirely sure how to ask for it at this juncture without seeming incredibly rude), she put on her best watery and reluctant smile, tilting her head to one side.

"Thank you so much for sitting here with me," she said quietly. "My fathers should be here soon. Well, they should be here _now_. I can't imagine what's keeping them. But it's good to have someone with me. I would hate to be alone right now."

"It's my pleasure, sweetheart. You shouldn't have to go through this. Especially not alone. Is there anyone else you want to call? I can let you use my phone."

"Oh, I couldn't possibly…"

"I _insist_."

But then the nurse reappeared and took Rachel's wet (and now bloody) towel away from her head, cheerfully announcing that they found a room for her. Rachel quickly wrote down Noah's home number and instructed her savior to call and tell Noah's mother what happened. She wasn't sure how much he heard on the phone, but she was sure that he would be worried (she _hoped _that he was worried, anyway, as horrible as that sounded. Because he most certainly had something to be worried _about _for a little while there).

The nurse finally pulled her away with a good deal more force than was really _necessary_, helping Rachel down the hall and into a tiny room with two beds. The other bed contained a thankfully sleeping elder woman and no visitors.

She knew it was possibly selfish, but she really wanted to be alone. Except for her fathers and maybe Noah and perhaps a friend or two from Glee club because she most certainly wanted to tell her story to people who would have nothing but sympathy for her and wouldn't try to interrupt with questions about her medical history.

* * *

When the police (finally) showed up to talk to Puck, they groaned and rolled their eyes like 'oh great, this kid again' or whatever. Which was totally stupid, because Puck hadn't actually done anything _too _fucked up since he joined Glee club, and he definitely hadn't _seen _them since then. And, okay, so he sort of brought the whole bad-rap-with-the-po-po thing on himself, with being a bad kid and all, but he was trying to make that go away, and he had a legitimate _emergency_ going on. So it wasn't like he was 'abusing police reforces' or whatever that asshole cop said when he got out of the car. And, anyway, after a few minutes (and after telling his story sixty-two times or something) they finally started listening and called in for info.

"So this girl. What's her name?" asked Officer Dickcheese (his real name was Officer Hunter, but Puck had hated him even _before _he'd started doubting the existence of Puck's in-distress damsel, so Dickcheese was gonna have to do).

"Rachel Berry. She lives, I don't know, somewhere near here. I've been driving around this neighborhood for-fucking-ever and it's like a fucking maze."

Dickcheese held up a finger and disappeared over to the car again, leaving Puck with his partner. And Puck was really too tired to even assign a stupid nickname to him, so Puck stuck him with Officer Douchebag. Because he totally _was. _And it completely didn't matter that Officer Douchebag actually hadn't spoken a word yet. He was just douching the place up.

And so maybe Puck was a little on edge, but that didn't make the cops any less stupid.

"Hey, Puckerman," said Dickcheese after listening to his super frustratingly quiet radio for a little bit. "It's your lucky day. Rachel Berry? She's fine."

Puck totally did not let out a sigh of relief, and it _definitely _wasn't embarrassing to do it in front of those cops. Not even a little.

* * *

When Rachel's fathers arrived at the hospital, she was surprised by the force of her completely unplanned tears. She'd thought that her emotions were all under control, but just seeing their faces pushed her over the edge. And they were no less emotional than she, which made it all the more easy to break down in front of them. They were all but encouraging it with their red eyes and their horrified grasping at her and hugging her.

She had always known that her fathers loved her more than anything else in the world. She was their angel. She was their pride and joy and nothing she ever did could make them stop loving her. But in that exact moment, despite having been attacked and put through an ordeal that she firmly believed no girl should ever have to suffer through at the hands of a juvenile delinquent who was hardly worth the oxygen it took to speak his name, in that exact moment she realized that she had never felt more loved and more secure in her love in her life.

Because no matter what happened to her, whether it be murder by the side of the road or international stardom by the age of twenty-one, she would have them. She would have their love, and that was all that ever needed to matter. Everything else was just a bonus (admittedly, she knew that this solitude would not last, and her unquenchable thirst for recognition would resume once she left the sanctuary of the hospital room, but it was lovely while it lasted).

"I just love you so much," she explained through her tears, trying to let them know that she wasn't crying because she was afraid, but because she wasn't. Because she realized that she didn't _need _to be afraid. Everything was okay as long as her fathers were there.

She knew that some her age would say that she needed to grow out of the impulse to run to her fathers with every little problem that she encountered, but Rachel personally hoped that she would never grow up _that _much. Ever.

"We love you too, baby," Dad said, smoothing her hair back from her face. "Have you talked to the police yet?"

"Yes, of course. They were informed of my imminent arrival and were waiting for me here to take my statement. But I don't know how much good it's going to do. I've watched _so _many Lifetime movies, and I know that court cases rarely go well for the women embroiled in he-said-she-said debates! I can't deal with that kind of shame and humiliation! I _refuse_ to let the court tell me that I should not have been afraid, because I _should _have been afraid…"

"Sweetie, you're not making much sense anymore," Daddy pointed out gently, because he was always the one who tried to calm her down if she was starting to build up too much momentum. Rachel tried to open her mouth and argue that she _did _make sense, but she was really very exhausted. Her fear had filled her with adrenaline, and the relief that she felt upon seeing her fathers had drained it from her body and left it empty. She was a hollow, soulless shell. But in a completely positive way. She felt like she was filled with helium. Like she could float away. But she was still worried about leaving the atmosphere of the earth and running out of gas to keep her floating and landing in a tree or popping in a jet engine (it wasn't a _perfect_ analogy, but Rachel thought it was pretty close). She wanted to just close her eyes and let everything go, but she couldn't. Because that would mean losing the tenuous grasp she had on the situation. That would mean giving up control.

She _hated _giving up control. Especially at that precise moment, for obvious reasons.

She wanted to _not _worry, but she couldn't _not _worry. If she didn't worry, then there would be no one worrying. Of course, her _fathers _would worry, and the policemen and her lawyer would probably be worrying about it, but their level of worrying and analysis of the particular situation wasn't exactly up to par with hers. The detectives and their graduate degrees in criminology were nothing, she felt, compared to her singular sense of…wrongness (a better word escaped her at the moment. Her head felt as if it were trying to float away from her body.)

She was so tired, and all she wanted to do was sleep, but her mind fought her body in every possible way. She would _not _go gently into that good night's sleep without a solid crack at winning, at least until she was _sure _that she would at least be granted a restraining order if not a metal spike with Linder's head on it.

Or until her body won. That was, of course, the other option. But only a fool would bet against Rachel Berry when she set her mind to something.

"What does our lawyer say? You should go talk to the police. Ask them about statistics. Ask them about strategies for handling this in court, all right? You need to ask them, Daddy. Or else I'm going to be just another Lifetime movie with an utterly disappointing ending, and I would rather _die _than let myself be fodder for a cheaply produced Friday night premiere starring some flavor of the week television actress! I would rather _die_."

She tried to impress upon him the utmost seriousness of this request, and to his credit he _did _leave the room to find the officers, but not before he chuckled and patted her on the head. She would have been annoyed had the gesture not filled her with great dancing butterflies of warmth and sunshine.

* * *

Puck walked into the hospital (which actually meant that he ran), and the nurses all looked at him like he was the person version of that feeling you get when you have a word in the back of your brain and it just does _not _want to move up front. Puck figured they were all looking at him like that because they weren't used to seeing him with a shirt on and without blood everywhere. He and the hospital were pretty good friends, because Puck got into fights like normal teenagers got into arguments with their parents. Some of the nurses even knew him by name, which was cool, but they were always the ones working during the day, so he didn't see anyone he recognized.

He was about to head over to the desk and ask where Rachel was, but then he spotted her Dad following after and talking to one of the doctors.

"Hey! Mr. Berry!" he shouted, getting about a thousand dirty looks in response. Whatever. Mr. Berry heard him, anyway, and turned around and waved him over, so Puck sort of inwardly was all 'fuck you guys' about it.

"Hi, Noah," Dad said with a tired smile. "She's right in there."

He pointed to a room like three feet down the hall, and Puck sort of smiled a little before booking it, because he didn't want Rachel to give him shit later for being rude or something. Because she totally would. She would also totally pretend not to care that he was so worried about her, or she would say something like 'oh, Noah, I was fine!', but he knew she'd secretly be happy about it.

And the fact that he knew her that much already was beginning to scare the shit out of him a little. But he'd deal with that later, because first he had to deal with what was right in front of him: Rachel was hurt. And Linder was fucking dead.

"Rachel?" he said quietly as he stuck his head around the corner and saw that her eyes were closed. At the sound of his voice, they popped open and looked all normal and crazy, and she sat up and smiled at him. He was _so fucking relieved_, because he didn't know if he could deal with a Rachel who was all crying and shit. He needed the Rachel who was all intense about everything and ready to throw down with Linder the second she was out of her hospital bed.

But then he stepped into the room, and sort of looked closer without even realizing it, and then he saw that she was faking everything. He wasn't exactly _surprised_. But he was a little bummed, because dealing with shit wasn't exactly his strong suit. Not when it came to emotions, anyway. He knew that if he said the wrong thing, it could turn into a disaster. That was his experience with Quinn and Santana, anyway. And he didn't know if he was in his mind enough to be _logical _and _rational _and whatever. Because mostly he just wanted to beat Linder to death with his bare hands or whatever, and he was pretty sure that Rachel wouldn't be okay with that. Not when she was recovering, anyway. She deserved someone who would be able to _handle _it without freaking out. She didn't deserve him and his goddamn emotional block.

But if she realized that she was too good for him, she didn't exactly act like it. Well, no more than usual, anyway.

"Noah! I'm so sorry I never called! I meant to, but then the nurse came and got me, and I've been rather distracted…I told the woman who brought me here to call your home phone, but I'm uncertain that she actually _did_…"

"It's okay. I was, uh, I called the police and stuff, and they told me where you were once they talked to the other police or…something. I don't know. It took them long enough. Jesus."

"Oh, Noah, that's very admirable of you! Especially given how much you dislike the Lima police force. I'm utterly flattered."

"Well I wasn't just gonna _not _call them. I had to call them like five times, though. They didn't believe it was a real emergency at first. Whatever. Fuck them, anyway. I, uh, I saw your dad in the hallway and he pointed me in. He looked all…serious. Is everything okay?"

"Noah, I was just _attacked_. Of course everything is not _okay_."

"Well, yeah, yeah. Obviously. I meant, like, you know, are _you _gonna be okay?"

"Oh! Yes, of course! I hit my head quite hard, but I've miraculously escaped without a concussion."

"Shit," Puck said, brushing his fingers over the bloodied bandage on her forehead. "It already bled through. Do you want me to get a nurse or something?"

"No, I'm fine. But thank you."

Rachel smiled at him, and Puck sort of forced a smile back, even though he felt like he was going to explode with all the anger inside him. What gave Linder the right to hurt Rachel like that? Puck knew he wasn't exactly the saint of niceness or whatever, but looking at Rachel in that hospital bed, he was completely unable to see how anyone would be able to hurt her like that. And it wasn't just because she was a chick, and it wasn't just because he liked her and thought that maybe he even loved her a little (not like, in a stupid way. Just in a _way_). It was because she was a person, and she was nice, and she hadn't done anything wrong to anyone.

"I'm going to kill him," he said matter-of-factly. And he wanted to. For that moment, he _wanted_ to kill Linder. Like, he wouldn't even feel bad about it. But Rachel leaned forward and grabbed his hands and _held _them like what she was going to say was really important. And, sure, that was kind of how she _always _talked, like everything was super important even though most of the time it really wasn't, but he was sort of feeling all intense too, so he was a little bit into it.

"Noah, for now let's focus on being grateful that I was not more seriously injured. I was able to overpower him for just long enough to get away, and I intend on focusing on that for the foreseeable future. I have already given my statement to the police, and I believe they'll want to speak with you as well, given that you've been witness to some of Linder's prior attempts to unsettle me. The detective I spoke with says that he's not entirely sure we _will _get a conviction, but he _has _recommended applying for a restraining order, which will at least allow us to perhaps achieve some sense of…"

Puck wasn't really sure what the hell she said after that, because he basically only heard that part about maybe not getting a conviction. And that was _not fucking okay_. That was the least okay thing in the entire world.

"Wait, hold up, what do you mean they might not be able to get a conviction?"

"Well, of course they are examining the area in which the attack took place, but the detective said that it's possible there will be no hard enough evidence to prove that Linder actually assaulted me, or attempted to rape me."

"He attempted to _what _you?"

"I know. It was horrid."

And then she just sort of _crumbled_. Like she was tired of trying to keep acting like she was okay when she was definitely _not _okay. It was actually really…sad. And not like how he _usually _thought people were 'sad', like pathetic. This was sad like how _Where the Red Fern Grows _was sad. It made him almost feel like crying a little, only he felt more like punching people instead because his dad always said that crying was useless, and even though his dad was a huge prick, he was at least right about that.

But _Rachel _was crying, and even though it would be way less embarrassing to tell her to man up and get dressed so they could go grab some knives and cut that little bastard to pieces, he didn't want to. He wanted to just hug her while she cried, and he wasn't even going to do it to be a perv like he usually would. He just wanted her to feel less awful. And if he couldn't stab Linder right in the fucking face, then this was probably the next best thing. He felt (and it was totally fucking weird, so he would never admit it to anyone. Ever) like if he could just hug her tight enough with his arms, everything that was wrong with her would just _stop _existing. Like she would feel so comforted by his presence that she would stop being upset. It was stupid. It was _so _stupid. But there it was.

So he moved his chair closer and let her ooze all over him with tears and snot and whatever. And he was okay with it (well he _tried _to be okay with it, but he didn't think it was physically possible to be okay with _snot_), and he didn't mind when like ten minutes passed and she was still crying. And he didn't mind when her dads walked in and started trying to bear hug them (okay, he minded a _little_. He had very specific personal space rules, and they definitely excluded group hugs from his list of 'things that are okay'). Mostly he was just too glad that Rachel was okay to actually care about most of the things that he would usually care about. Thinking that she was in serious trouble was like finding out that Quinn was pregnant, only scarier. It was like this full-force impact. Like something hit him and it was just a face full of _shit_. Crazy as hell. And now it was over. Now she was okay. And he was going to do everything in his power to make sure that she stayed that way.

He was pretty vaguely aware that he'd had that idea before. But this time, he _meant _it.

* * *

Rachel did not for one moment doubt that Puck was entirely sincere when he said that he wanted to be with her as much as possible in the days following her assault. But when she was released from the hospital the following afternoon and found him sitting in the dining room with her Daddy when she and her Dad walked through the door, she _was _a bit overcome with emotions. She hadn't doubted it, of course, but it was quite a different experience altogether to actually have it occur. Hypotheticals were her specialty. She was good at imagining various situations that could potentially arise. Actually _living _those experiences was something that seldom happened to her.

So she kissed Noah on the lips and thanked him sincerely.

"You didn't have to," she said, hoping to convey with her tone that she _was _happy that he chose to, despite the fact that it was technically unnecessary. Noah just smiled and shrugged and looked incredibly embarrassed, which was _adorable_ in a way that she didn't know was possible. She was almost breathless, because she had never felt so much concern leveled in her direction before (and she was very aware that one of her most talked about flaws was her constant need for attention, so the sheer force of the positive attention she was receiving was obviously quite powerful). Between the three men in the room, she was overflowing with glowing feelings of contentment.

"It's not like I have anything better to do," Noah said sullenly, but he smiled. Rachel kissed him again, because she was pretty sure that the moment warranted it. And this time it was not a result of her limitless knowledge of television and movie tropes, but because she _wanted _to.

"My fathers said that you could sleep on the couch as long as you want, although I feel obligated to give you the disclaimer and reiterate that it is not strictly _necessary_.

"Babe, I'm looking forward to the moment where I get to bash Linder's head in with a baseball bat. I wouldn't leave for all the free ice cream and weed in the world."

"Touching sentiment," Rachel said, but she was smiling, because she really _did _feel it was quite touching. Despite the part about illegal substances. Truth was, she hadn't experienced many moments in her short life when she felt that someone cared so deeply about her and was so concerned for her that they were willing to go above and beyond the typically required set of actions for such a circumstance. Her fathers, of course, and her grandparents. They were _expected_ to react with concern and consternation when she was hurt. They were expected to spend sleepless nights worrying about her. That was what movies and television shows and Broadway plays told her, anyway, and there had been no reason to doubt them so far.

But Noah? Above everything else, Noah was supposed to be unattached. He was supposed to be uncomplicated. In the grand plan for the future biopic of her life, Noah would be the love interest of the first segment who is invariably replaced due to some horrible misdeed or change in personality. That had been the arrangement from the beginning. But things had changed all too suddenly. It wasn't just the attack, either. Her feelings for Noah had been evolving since their original union, and now she realized that she would be genuinely distressed were he to ever disappear fully from her life.

And no matter what happened to them in the future, there was no way that she would ever be able to forget the worry that had been on his face when he saw her lying in that hospital bed. She would never be able to forget the relief. The sigh, the smile, the way he ran his fingers through his hair and did a double take like he wasn't quite sure she was actually _there_.

Noah had become a part of her story, more quickly than she ever could have expected. When she told the tale of her assault, when she recounted the details of how afraid she felt and how she wasn't sure she would survive, she would always have to tell the story of _after_. Of the brave boy who shed off every skin he had learned to develop in order to feel desperation and concern and fear and all the things he had conditioned himself not to feel anymore.

Rachel knew that there was every possibility that she and Noah would not last. She knew that there was every possibility that they would end before they ever really began. It was _high school_, and things like that tended to happen. But still, as she looked at him that night, she knew that she would never quite hate him. She never could. No matter what.

She stood on her toes and kissed the corner of his mouth gently, her legs trembling. She was exhausted, she was running on residual adrenaline, but she wanted him to know that she appreciated him.

"Thank you, Noah," she whispered into his ear. "For everything. I'm not entirely sure what I've done to deserve you, but I'm glad that you've stayed. You didn't have to. This wasn't part of our agreement."

"I think the agreement changed," Noah said. And he didn't _sound _concerned or at all afraid that she might not reciprocate, but Rachel liked to think that he _was_. And, of course, she was planning on including _that _tidbit in her future recollections as well. Not that the verbal picture she would have to paint of Noah's heroism would have to be edited all too much. It was nearly perfect as it was.

"I think it has," she whispered. And then they just stared at one another, because although they were both aware that things were different, neither was really sure how to start laying the new ground rules. And there was still the matter of the paternity of Quinn's baby, and Rachel's remaining affections for Finn. These were things that did not have easy solutions.

But that was all right, because they could take as long as they needed to figure it out. In that one moment, it felt like they had all the time in the world.

Of course, there was also the impending case against Linder and Karofsky. And Rachel's imminent confrontation of the other glee kids who had so heartlessly abandoned her in one of her hours of need. And naturally Rachel was already planning on committing the story to paper (the ultimate goal being to have her published short story or novel made into a film). But she had not counted on one very interesting detail. Because Rachel had expected entirely to have some effect on Noah's habits (she was relentless), but she had not expected any of his to cross over into her life.

But one habit most inescapably _had_. And so, standing in her living room, she decided that she could always put off worrying until tomorrow.


End file.
